Night Festival
by Vashti
Summary: Can a dream follow you night after night after night . . .
1. Default Chapter

Body

Angel: Night Festival

The two friends walked along the crowded street. The shorter, and prettier, of the two held the camera around her neck to her eye, randomly capturing pictures of classmates out during this the Night of Festival. The taller, and plainer, had given it to her. They walked on instead of stopping to talk to their friends for they had a mission. They were going to meet Angel tonight, he had a surprise for them. 

Christina was the shorter, prettier -- though neither were exactly pretty-- friend, more outgoing and reckless, though not so much so, with cinnamon brown skin. Rachel was taller, somewhat heftier -- that didn't stop her from being a great runner for the track team -- a bit more cautious, but loyal to Christi, for they made a good team, with her fair skin and dirty blonde hair. 

Neither senior was exactly dressed for Festival, though not many other seniors were. By this time in High School dress up was at a minimum, so Christi wore her basic blue jeans, a long sleeved green and black narrow ribbed T-shirt. For "dress up," around her waist a long scarf of mottled colors, consisting mostly of blue, green, yellow and gray splotches as a skirt, and of course her sneakers. Rache declined from wearing anything more than what she normally wore -- a long sleeved coral T-shirt and overalls. After all, they were going to see Angel, which meant they should be as comfortable as possible. Christi agreed and declined from wearing her black boots, rubber soled though they were. 

They'd met Angel a few nights ago. 

They were hanging around the school area with their other out-crowd friends watching the boarders do tricks off the steps of the courtyard across the street. Unfortunately, it seemed that even the outers had a hierarchy. Actually it was just the boarders, some of them were more popular than others, depending on how good they were. Justina and her crew were great, Christi and Rache and their friends weren't. Justina's crew was bugging Christi's when Angel came along. Of course Justina flirted with him, he was obviously older, maybe even college, but he only had time for the two friends. It wasn't as if he was mean to Justina, he was actually very nice, but it was obvious who held his attention. And, as Rachel pointed out, he was so sweet they were delighted to be noticed. 

So when he asked if they'd like to meet next week around this time they agreed. Angel put his arms around them, gave them each a chaste kiss on the cheek and told them they should meet on the Night of Festival, away from the crowds to hang out by themselves. They could then go back and play the games when it wasn't so bustling. 

They laughed, hadn't he already shown them more fun than they'd had in months? Yes, they would be there. 

Taking pictures of notable seniors and underclassmen on the way -- sometimes just annoying classmates to mock in photo later -- the two friends made their way through the thickest part of the crowd till the lights and voices faded behind them. Even Jordan of the bright red hair was little more than a distant flash of color every now and then as Rache looked behind them. "He should pop up any moment," Christi reassured her. 

They kept walking and, running out of subjects, Christi let her new camera hang down her neck. Suddenly someone tackled them from off to the side. The girls gave a frightened shriek as they landed on it. 

"Hello ladies," it said with a smile. 

The girls laughed. Angel had surprised them again, much as he had their first meeting. Dressed in black leather pants and jacket with only a crimson red shirt for color, Rachel thought he looked a little sinister, but that was part of what she liked about him. Christi lightly punched him as she asked, "Where did you come from? And what took so long, I thought we'd be walking forever." 

"Just wanted to make sure no one would interrupt our fun," he replied merrily, putting the girls at ease. "So, are you two ready?" 

They nodded, still sitting/lying atop him, wild grins on their faces. They knew they were going to play something tonight, then perhaps go back to the Festival and play the games there and hang out with friends. It promised to be a great night. 

"All right then. I'm giving you 86 longitude to run, hut hut hut!" he barked as if giving orders to his football team. 

There was something about running that could be infinitely fun. The combination of physical exertion and adrenaline rush made it a heady flight. Even being caught could be exhilarating, so long as you wanted to be. 

The girls scrambled off him and started running along the mostly deserted street. Christi was in the lead, but she could see Rache's shadow right behind the one of her flowing "skirt." She ducked into a nearby park, about three blocks from where they'd left Angel, parts of whose gates were open in both the front, where they entered, and the back, through which they tried to escape. Christi banged into the secondary gate first, then heard the metallic crash of her friend moments after. "You shouldn't follow me everywhere," she cried laughingly, breathlessly as she righted herself and heard Rache's own breathless laugh in return. Pushing off the gate she zipped out, certain Angel hadn't made it to the little park yet. Even if he had, she was sure they could zip right by him through the farther of the two open portions of the gate. After all, weren't those Rachel's footsteps somewhere behind hers? 

Sure enough Angel was not in sight as Christi ran out onto the pavement. Soon she spied another park in a similar condition. This one was certain to be a great place to lose him. The rear wasn't fenced at all and led to the nearby "forest" area. It wasn't very large, but could be used to lose him for a little while. 

Instead of turning to see if Angel was behind her, Christi simply glanced at the wall where their shadows could easily be seen. He was right behind her! But the park was so close, she was positive she'd make it, she thought with a reckless smile. This _was_ turning out to be a lot of fun. 

Christi kept an eye on the shadows as she raced for the entrance. As she watched, Angel's shadow reach for hers, seemingly in slow motion. Then felt his right arm go around her neck, effectively bringing her down for a hard landing against his chest. 

At first Christi was frightened, but calmly told herself that it was a natural reaction, what with so much adrenaline pumping through her body right now, and to relax -- this was Angel after all. So she laughed off the remaining adrenaline rush as Angel's arm moved away from her neck and across her chest, securing her to him. Christi giggled a bit nervously, but wasn't worried as the heat of his lips were felt against her neck. Suddenly, his teeth grazed the flesh of her collar bone, lightly brushing her skin, sending shivers through her body and goosebumps along her skin. As he did so, slowly he rocked her from side to side, rhythmically in an enthralling motion. Christi still felt no fear, despite their being alone on a deserted street, blocks away from anyone, with no one in the neighborhood in sight. Actually she'd forgotten Rachel completely. Her full concentration was on the feel of Angel's teeth sending cool shivers through her and the entrancing way he rocked her. 

As she went slowly limp in his arms, Angel released the tight grip he held on the girl and shifted position behind her. Instead of kneeling, now his legs were around hers as he gathered her against him. He no longer moved, but she kept gently swaying as if mesmerized by something in front of her, or some hypnotic suggestion in her mind. Laying back on the concrete on raised elbows with the girl trapped by his legs, Angel considered drinking from her neck. But no, he had already made it very sensitive and instead of feeling pain she was more likely to have some weird sense of pleasure. Actually, the idea had merit... No, no, that's not what he wanted. But if not, why had he seduced her and her friend a few nights ago? Because they would be a great diversion, and they had been. The other's blood still warmed him despite the slight chill, he knew. 

As this one swayed he sat up, reached over her -- he was head and shoulders above her -- and brought the index finger of her right hand to his mouth. He surreptitiously wiped what was left of the other girl's blood from his mouth. (What was her name? Ah, it didn't matter, he had this one. The other had been to tame his hunger while playing with this one, Christina. Not the other girl hadn't been fun, actually he would have liked playing with the other one too, if not for her.) Angel bit her finger, not hard enough to crush it, but certainly to get the blood flowing. Ah, youth, how he enjoyed it so. 

Christi looked at her bleeding finger after Angel released it. She could only conjure a dreamy smile before he reached for her hand again. 

This would prove to be a wonderful night, Angel thought . . . 

2 

Angel jerked upright in his bed. His breathing was labored and his body was covered in a fine of sheen of sweat. After glancing over his shoulder--_no he hadn't awakened her_ -- he swung his legs off the bed. A navy satin robe lay on the floor where he must have dropped it after showering last night. Angel picked it up and shrugged into it as he headed for the kitchen. 

After putting a kettle of water on to boil for tea, Angel sat at the small table. The memory of his dream was vivid, partly because it _was_ a memory. But in the dream it was distorted. 

That wasn't what happened that Festival night. And although Angel awoke before the dream could complete itself, he knew that what else it had to show was worse. Actually, he got the feeling that it was very sinister indeed. 

_Ugh, look at myself_, he thought, _I sound like Giles_. 

Angel hadn't thought of Giles or the rest of the Sunnydale gang in a long time. He supposed Giles would be about ninety five by now, maybe older. And Buffy...Buffy would be in her sixties. How long since he'd seen them all? He'd attended Willow and Oz's wedding. That had been interesting. Xander still hadn't forgiven him for being the object of Buffy's affection despite being a vampire. He'd even gone to Buffy and Riley's wedding, but that had been years ago. Their daughter had been a Slayer. 

It had been over fifty years since Buffy'd surprised him by coming to the office in Los Angeles after discovering Angel had been spying on her at school. _The memory of a night that never was sent a fever, then a haunting chill through his body._ He hadn't seen them all in almost twenty years. Was Rupert even alive? 

But the dream still nagged at him. Angel poured himself a cup of chamomile tea, maybe that'd help him sleep. 

Warm hands slid over the cool satin covering his shoulders and back. Angel whirled around, only to see the small face of his wife looking up at him. He smiled at her. "Did I wake you," he asked in a whisper. 

She smiled back. "Lack of body heat woke me," she whispered back. "Couldn't sleep, my love?" she asked as she slid her hands inside his robe, around his stomach. 

"Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep," he kissed her forehead, "I'll be right there." 

"Promise?" 

"Of course." Angel watched her glide across the floorboards back to their bedroom. He always marveled at the way she went around the apartment without a robe on -- it wasn't as if she didn't own one -- in just a T-shirt and shorts. To him it was always a little chilly. 

Not that he minded. 

Still his mind drifted off to that dream. That wasn't how it had happened, but it was. Maybe Angel simply couldn't let go of his past. _A lot has changed in the past fifty plus years_, he thought, sitting at the table, drinking the tea. He had changed, but that sounded like a cliché to even his ears. 

Angel finished his drink, hoping it would in fact help him as it seemed to do his wife. She would be tossing and turning without him, he knew. He made her feel safe, she said . 

As he feared, the bedcovers were tangled about her athletic frame. The scarlet colored velvet bedspread accented her cinnamon brown skin. She lay on her stomach -- _unusual position for her_, he thought -- one leg exposed, her left hand on his side of the bed. 

Angel slipped off his robe and sat on the edge of the bed. He took his wife's hand in his own. Her fingertips were cool, but they often were. She murmured and turned towards him when he kissed them, still asleep. "You must be really exhausted, baby," he whispered to her. There was no response. She must be worn out, his wife hated being called "baby," even by him. 

He chuckled as he slid into bed, pulling her to him. "Good-night, Christina." 

3 

"So what was that about last night," Christina asked that morning. She was making their morning coffee/tea, Angel was doing breakfast. 

"What do you mean?" 

She snorted. "You know exactly what I mean, doll cakes. I may have been the walking dead last night, but I know when something's bothering you." 

"It's what I told you," he said turning around from the eggs, "it was just a bad dream." 

"So tell me about it." 

"It's not important." He was evading the subject and they both knew it. 

Christina didn't bother to say anything else, she stared at his back. She even managed to not tap her foot, but Angel could hear it in his mind. He knew she was staring at him, waiting for an answer. He also knew that she would stand there staring at him, giving him the silent treatment during breakfast. It wouldn't be the first time. Usually they didn't last long. Not that some hadn't lasted for days. 

Not this time. The dream pressed on Angel too heavily, despite wanting to keep it from her. 

He fixed their plates and sat. Christi poured his coffee, set her mug of tea next to her plate and sat facing him. She was waiting. "All right," he started, "there is more." Angel told her about the dream including the memory distorting end. 

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" 

"I don't know. Wanted to protect you, I guess," he said nonchalantly as he sipped his lukewarm coffee and made a face. 

"I think you wanted to keep me from remembering what you were," she said around her toast. 

Angel looked away. 

"That's it, isn't it?" She took his hand, "Angel, I know you were a vampire. I know all the things you did as a vampire, the good, the bad..., the evil. I was there when The Powers That Be gave you back your humanity, remember?" 

"I know --" 

"And I remember what happened that Night of Festival. You didn't seduce me like that." 

"Oh, and how _did_ I seduce you," he couldn't resist teasing. 

She laughed, breaking some of the tension. "May I continue," she asked dramatically. He nodded. "Anyway, you did chase me and Rache. That part's right. Rachel and I ran into that park that was cut off from the back. She told me later that you stopped her before she could follow me and asked if we could be alone. She agreed and went back to Festival." He nodded again. "Then you followed me with your preternatural speed just before I made it to the next park. You didn't 'capture' me, you stopped me from falling when I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk." 

Angel picked up the narrative, "And from there we walked through the park to the wooded area. We talked for an hour or more about everything." He sounded almost nostalgic. 

"And I was talking about the stars. I was surprised that you could see them so close to town. And then I was really surprised--" 

"When I kissed you." 

Christina smiled, "When you kissed me." She stood up, still holding his hand, and walked over to his side of the table. "Was that so bad?" 

"No." He stood and asked, "Is this," and kissed her. 

"No," she said when they pulled apart. 

Their breakfast was forgotten. 

4 

Angel reached for Christina's hand again. Perhaps the meaty part of her palm this time? He'd quite enjoyed drinking from her finger, but the rest of her called to him. 

Angel picked up his swaying beauty and strode with her into the park and the wood beyond. They were far from the noise and the prying eyes with just enough room to play some more, but no place for his new toy to get lost. Maybe he would make her run some more. 

The Swaying Beauty, as Angel was beginning to call her, was humming to herself. _So like Dru_, he thought. Some minds were just easier to thrall than others. Some were more willing. As temporary diversions went, she was almost as fun as torturing the Slayer, but he'd killed Buffy years ago. Now _that_ had been fun. Angel grinned to himself, picking up the tenor note in his new toy's song. They finished the impromptu duet just as he laid her underneath a tree. 

"Wake up my pretty," he snapped his fingers next to her ear. "Time to wakey, wakey." She wouldn't let go of her half glazed expression. "Christina," he slapped her once, hard, "get up!" 

She yipped, blinked twice and started breathing normally. "What, what happened?" Christi finally had the sense to be at least worried. 

"Nothing. Yet." Angel brought his face down to hers, their noses almost brushing, "Now," he started, _soto voce_, "I want you to wait right here, right underneath this tree." Her eyes widened. Good, she was beginning to fear him. "Do you understand me?" 

Christina nodded mutely. 

"Excellent." He ran a finger down her button nose, "Be right back." 

Angel hadn't gone twenty yards when he heard his new toy trying to escape. Intercepting her was easy. He let her see his true face, his daemon self. Christi backed away quickly, but not fast enough. He pulled her against his chest knowing what she beheld. "I said stay put," Angel growled, enunciating slowly. "Now I don't have to secure you to one of these lovely trees do I?" Paralyzed by fear, she didn't answer. He tilted her chin to look in his gold inhuman eyes. "Do I," he asked again. 

Christi shook her head fervently. 

"Excellent. Now be a good girl and sit!" He roughly pushed her down against a tree. "That's my darling. And I won't have to come looking for you, will I?" 

She shook her head. 

"I hope not," Angel said almost jovially. This seemed to frighten her as much as his appearance did. On impulse, he bent down and quickly kissed her on the lips. The shock on her face was worth the attempted escape, Angel thought as he whistled the tune Christina had been humming six minutes ago. 

5 

Angel's eyes opened. On his lips was the tune from the dream. He quickly felt his face to make sure it was still human. This second dream was more vivid than the first. Not wanting to wake Christina--his mind quickly turned from what his dream self did to her, what he was planning to do--he stayed in bed. 

How was it possible to pick up a dream, exactly where you left off, after being awake an entire day? There was more to this than he could see, but who could he talk to? He didn't want to worry Christi, but he needed to talk to someone. Perhaps the Counsel of Watchers would be helpful. It could be a sign of another Apocalypse. There hadn't been one in a few years, the world was about due. If that was all then they should have it under control. Mayja and her Watcher, Hermoine, were probably all over it by now. Angel would call in the morning, since they'd be out patrolling tonight. 

Christina threw one of her legs across his and murmured in her sleep. She had been curled up against his side while he idly stroked her arm. Angel wished he was sharing her dream. What would happen if he kissed her awake? Only one way to find out. . . 

6 

"Hey, Hermoine? It's Angel." 

"Good morning, Angel," she was smiling despite her aristocratic English accent. Were all Watchers English? "May I ask why you're calling?" 

He shifted on his feet, "Actually, I was wondering if another Apocalypse was on the way." 

"What?!" 

He winced. "I'll take it there isn't?" 

"Hey Hermoine, who ya talkin' to," someone asked in the background. Mayja most likely. 

"Angel actually. He's asking about an Apocalypse." 

He could hear books being slammed onto a desk, but still couldn't see her. "Another one?" _Pop!_ Well, someone was chewing gum, and it wasn't Hermoine. 

"Stop that! Angel? I'm sorry, are you still there?" 

"Yes, of course." Some conventions of phone conversations never changed, despite being able to see the person you were talking to, "So you were saying. . .?" 

"Ah, yes. Well, no one has reported any signs of the End of the World. Any reason your, uh, asking?" 

He sighed, he really didn't want to get into the details. "Well," and he told her about his dreams, including the one from last night that he'd kept from Christi. 

"And you say this isn't how it happened originally?" 

"Yes. I'm just worried it might be something. Something Apocalyptic." It sounded silly even to his ears. 

Hermoine looked slightly flustered. "Sounds like a typical bad dream to me." 

"Yes, I know," he interrupted her, "but dreams don't pick up where they left off the night before. I've had recurring dreams, even weird ones like this, but they've never given me such a bad feeling." 

"I see. Well, I don't think it's quite an Apocalypse, though I'd say we're about due--" 

"That's what I thought." 

"But, nevertheless, it could still be something. I'll look into it." 

"Thanks, Hermoine. I appreciate it." 

"No problem, Angel. And say hello to Christina for me." 

"I will." He shut down the vizuphone. 

7 

Christina looked around the apartment. Who knew that an ex-Slayer would be married to one of the most famous vampires in history? She certainly hadn't expected it, nor had anyone else as far as she could tell. Sometimes she got the feeling that she'd done all this before. Impossible. Christi didn't believe in past lives and all that rot, as her Watcher, Bishop, used to say. 

Interesting name for a watcher she thought. And like all watchers, she supposed, he was English. Strange lot, watchers. To think Rupert Giles had been one of the most relaxed of them all! Just the thought sent her into paroxysms of giggles. What a state to be caught in if Angel came home at that moment. He'd tease her mercilessly for the rest of the afternoon. 

Thinking of Angel reminded her of his dreams. He hadn't been talking about them for the past few days, so she assumed they were gone. She should ask. 

Christina would, just as soon as she took a nap. Funny, she was very tired lately. It was more than bodily fatigue--though her very bones ached sometimes--as mental fatigue. It almost felt like she'd been outwitting yet another demon ghoulie who just wouldn't die. Not that it hadn't happened before, but this seemed just a bit unusual. Perhaps a trip to the doctor was in order? Actually being an ex-Slayer is what made it funny. They had the nasty good luck of excellent health, which meant no sick-days from school for them. Then again, exhaustion wasn't exactly an infirmity. Either way, she'd take a nap now and see the doctor tomorrow if it persisted. That's what her mother always told her to do. (Not that it ever came to that.) 

Christina wondered how her mother was doing, just before nodding off... 

8 

She was running, running from _him_. 

He was right behind her, then he wasn't. He was playing with her mind, she knew. One moment she felt his breath on her neck, the next letting her think she'd dodged away just in time only for him to suddenly appear in her path. Then there he was. She couldn't stop herself from running straight into his arms. 

"Hello again. So very nice to see you, I was just about ready for my midnight snack," he said, his features hard and alien, his eyes inhuman. 

She screamed as he bit into her neck.   
  
[][1]  


   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	2. 9-15

Body

9 

"Christina! Christina! Wake up, wake up honey, it's only a dream." Angel tried to make himself heard over his wife's screams. She had nightmares, yes, but never like this. She never lay trapped in it screaming, it sounded, for her life. 

Christi's eyes flew open. For a moment they stared at nothing like dead eyes. The silence was almost shocking after her screams. She looked at him. "Angel?" Her voice sounded watery. 

"I'm right here, I'm right here," he murmured to her as she sobbed into his chest. It took a few moments for her to compose herself. "Are you okay?" 

She nodded mutely, sniffling. 

"Let me get you something to drink, okay," he asked as if talking to a child. If she noticed, she didn't mention it. 

Christina nodded. 

When Angel returned she was laying in bed, looking calmer. He handed her the water then sat next to her while she drank. "Is that better? Can you tell me about it," he asked as she sipped the water. 

Handing the glass back to Angel she shook her head. "I can't... remember a single thing about it," Christina answered in almost wonder. "All I know is that I was in trouble and either I didn't know how to use my Slayer powers or maybe I didn't realize I could but it's--," she whispered, "it's like I was dying." 

"Were you?" He was almost afraid to ask. 

She shook her head slowly. "I don't know. I don't know." 

Angel hugged her close, "Then maybe it was just a bad dream, a nightmare. That would explain why you've forgotten it." 

"No! No, this isn't like my nightmares. I know, I know I sometimes talk in my sleep, but screaming?! I never react that way. I usually just wake up terrified." 

Her breathing was becoming shallow again, Angel noticed. "It's okay, it's all right. Look, there's a first time for everything." Christi looked doubtful. "Have you ever screamed in your dreams?" She shook her head. "But you were this time weren't you?" She nodded. "Then that explains it. It was your first screaming nightmare so you woke up screaming. No big deal after all, huh?" 

Christi smiled. "I guess not. Thank you." 

"Hey," Angel smiled back, "no problem. Think you can go back to sleep?" 

"Yeah," she moved beneath the covers, "I think I can. Wake me for my class?" 

"Sure." He left the room as his wife fell asleep. Although he'd just alleviated her fears, Angel had his own. Somehow, he just couldn't prove it yet, her nightmare was connected to his own "dreams." (They were more like visions than dreams.) All he was waiting for now was word from Hermoine. 

"And it hurt so much," Christina murmured, half sleep. Angel didn't hear. 

10 

Angel was finishing dinner when Christina came home. "How was class?" 

She hung her jacket on the coat rack in the foyer and dropped her bag on the bed. "My prof's a shorty on speed," she called out to him. "Well, actually this guy called him Carlton on speed," Angel laughed, "but it looks like it's going to work out all right." 

"Great. And you're just in time for dinner." 

"So I smelled! What're you making? I'll do desert unless you have that covered." 

"No, go right ahead." 

"Hey did you get those stick thingies from the Magick Shoppe?" 

"Uh-huh. What're they for anyhow?" 

Pulling three or so containers of various berries out of the fridge she shrugged. "I'll show you later." Angel nodded, bent over their plates. 

Never was Christi so happy that she'd married a man who could cook than when she came home from a late class. Her own cooking skills were fine actually, but she lacked the imagination to make anything more than average. Well, that's what Angel was for. 

He noticed she kept looking at him over her fork of food or glass of iced tea. "So," by way of bridging a silence that was becoming awkward, "anything interesting at school?" 

She shrugged, "No. Why?" 

"I don't know. You just seem -- anxious about something." 

"I'm okay," she answered around a forkful of fettucini. 

They kept eating. Something was bothering her, but he wasn't going to pry. Eventually it would come out. From the beginning Christina was never very good at keeping secrets from Angel. Sometimes he'd felt he knew her better than Bish-- 

"How would you feel if we were going to have a baby?" 

He looked up, shocked. 

"You don't want a baby, do you," she said almost mournfully. When they'd gotten married they couldn't have children -- Angel had still been a vampire -- but Christi had always gotten the impression that he didn't want one anyway. At least not yet. "And I knew...I knew you didn't want them but I thought--" 

"No, no," Angel cut her off mid-ramble, "that's not it at all. I was just--surprised. I meanthis is a little surprising. Wow." 

"No, it's all right," but he wouldn't let her finish. 

"I'm so happy. This is great." He stood up to hug her. Christi protested the whole time. "When did you have time to go to a doctor?" 

Finally! "I, I didn't. As far as I know I'm not pregnant." 

"Huh?" In their five years of marriage she'd finally managed to utterly confused him. 

Christina smiled and laughed, "I was just asking how you would feel." 

"Then why did you get so upset?" 

She sighed and said, "Because I really want to have a baby and I was afraid that you still don't. I've just been so tired lately and ill-feeling that I decided to go to my doctor tomorrow. What if she tells me I'm pregnant, I wanted to know how you'd feel." 

"But what made you think I didn't want children?" 

"Angel," she looked up at him, "when we were dating you never talked about kids. They didn't come up while we were affianced and still didn't during our first year of marriage." Christi shrugged, "Most couples talk about children. They dream and plan how many they'll have, if they want a boy or girl, what their kids will grow up to be, and what kind of parents they'll make. Its just...normal. Even if to say both or one doesn't want any." She laid her head against his chest. 

"And we never talked about any of that did we?" 

She nodded. 

"So you figured that I didn't want children." 

She nodded again. 

"And you didn't bring it up because you're so nice and didn't want to press it, right?" 

Smiling into his chest, she nodded. 

"And it probably didn't help that we couldn't at first," Angel said more to himself than to his wife. "I should have realized. I'm sorry, Christi," he apologized as he kissed her head. 

"Don't apologize." 

He pushed her away slightly to look down at her, "I should. I knew how important children were to you when we met. If you want to start trying--" 

"No! That's not what I want. I mean it is! I mean, ugh! I want kids, but could we talk about this more before we kind of jump into this? I'm still doing my grad work and your always busy and--" 

Angel laughed, "All right. All right, a little discussion then some fun, how about that?" 

On tiptoe Christi managed to kiss his chin. "Come on, dinner's getting cold." 

11 

_"Christina?"_

_"Hey Angel. I didn't expect you back from patrolling so soon." Her back is to him._

_"Yeah, well, tonight's a little slow," he says, walking up to her. "So why are you here at the Mansion? I thought you were going out with your friends. That's why I agreed to cover for you."_

_Is that a sniffle? "I did go out, but, I don't know, I just kind of got tired of it."_

_He is behind her now, "Tired of it? That doesn't sound like you. Anyway, that still doesn't explain why your at my place."_

_Now that is a sniffle. She gives what sounds like a teary laugh, "Avoiding Bishop, why else?"_

_He lightly touches her shoulders, "So what's really wrong?"_

_Stepping away from him, she quickly wipes her eyes. "What do you mean?"_

_"You haven't had an evening to yourself in months. You've fallen in love with the Bronze and isn't your friend Sonji playing there tonight," he asks reassuringly._

_"Yeah, well," and she lets it trail off. _

_He steps up to her again and firmly places his hands on her shoulders. "Turn around," he says quietly. _

_She shakes her head. "Nothing's wrong."_

_"You're crying."_

_"It's nothing."_

_"Tell me about it."_

_She shakes her head again._

_Sighing, he said, "You came here for a reason, either to hide from someone or something, but you _**did**_ come to my house. Unlike you, I can't bar you , but I can ask for a straight answer. Why are you here?"_

_Turning, she says, "I saw Robert at the Bronze tonight kissing some girl."_

_Her eyes are red-rimmed from crying, and her cheeks are puffy. "How long have you been crying," he asks in a low, concerned whisper._

_"I don't know," she says weakly. _

_Her lower lip is trembling as she looks everywhere but his face, trying to contain burgeoning tears. "Are you sure it was him?" He sounds flat even to himself._

_"Mm-hmm." Covering her face with her hands she turns her back and sobs. "How could he? How could he," she asks between wrenching sobs._

_Angel turns her around and holds her close. "There, there, it's all right, I'm here for you." he murmurs awkwardly, that and other nonsense._

_She continues asking "why" between sobs. _Why her, why now, why hadn't she been enough_. He shushs her as he rocks her back and forth. _

_"It's not your fault. Don't worry about it."_

_"I thought he loved me. He was my first love," she sobs into his chest. "_Why?" _she pounds his chest,_ "why?," _and again,_ "why?_" sobbing harder each time. _"Why_?!" And with that she completely collapses against him. _

_Angel is surprised to realize he has changed. All because some guy named Robert (he'd never really paid attention to Christina's relationship, or lack thereof.) has hurt her. He calms himself. _

_When his features return to normal he picks her up -- she offers no resistance, only whimpering weakly into his chest -- and carries her to the couch. "It's all right, Christina," he says gruffly, trying to keep what has happened out of his voice. "He wasn't in love with you," he pauses. "You two didn't__?"_

_She manages a surpisingly harsh laugh. "No, we didn't have sex. But we came close, so close." This only makes her cry harder. Angel wishes he hadn't brought it up. "I loved him so much and all he wanted was my body. My least attractive feature no less."_

_Angel doesn't respond. He props her up against some pillows. "I'll get you some water, that'll help calm you." Standing slowly he looks down at her. She looks back with the kind of trust you can only give to someone you've laid bare your heart to. And she just has, hasn't she? _

_He looks down at her and realizes that he cares for her. Maybe even falling in love with her. _

_When he returns with the water she is standing. "Do you have any tissues," she asks._

_After he shakes his head she checks her bag for some. Turning back to him, tissue in hand she asks, "Can we spar?" _

_"Sure."_

12 

"Hermoine, what'd you find?" 

"Nothing, Angel. I'm sorry." She pushed her glasses up her nose. 

He nodded. "That's all right because I've kind of got another problem." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, and it's a little strange--" 

Snorting, Hermoine said, "And what isn't strange around here." 

"Uh huh. Anyhow, it concerns Christina. Lately she's just not been, I don't know, normal." 

The look she gave him said, _And how helpful is that?_

"Yeah, I know, details. Um, she's acting like a teenager. It's like she's reverting back to the girl I met in New York City. She's not the self-sufficient Slayer training with Bishop, the one I fell in love with and she's not acting like the grad student who happens to be my wife." 

Genuinely worried, Hermoine asked, "You mean she's forgotten her whole life before New York?!" 

"No, no!" Angel tried to reassure her, "Nothing like that. It's not her mind that's relapsed, it's her emotional state. The girl I met was very smart and just as unsure of herself. She was pretty but thought she was generic. Christina wasn't my choice for the next Slayer and I honestly didn't think she would make it. And now--" 

"Now she's acting like that again. Isn't it possible there are other reasons?" 

Angel shrugged. "I guess so. She's going to her doctor today, so we'll see what she says." 

"Do that Angel," she pushed up her glasses again, "and tell me what happens. We'll take it from there." 

"Thank you Hermoine, don't know what I'd do without you." 

"All the research I'll be doing," she said with a snort. 

Angel laughed. 

Sobering for a moment he held up a sliver of red wood to the viz screen. "Do you know what this is?" 

"Oh, Stix? Yeah. I'll show you later. At least that's not something else I'll have to research." 

Angel laughed again. 

13 

"Who are you? You shouldn't be here," Christina said, wide eyed to the girl who strolled toward her. "Justina?" 

Justina walked up to Christi. "What are you doing here? And what do mean 'I shouldn't be here?' Angel sent me," she said derisively. 

"No, you don't understand!" She pulled Justina close, "He's a monster." 

The girl laughed and pushed her away. "Your just saying that 'cause he finally realized what a loser you and Rachel are." Justina looked around. "Where is Rache?" 

For the first time in nearly an hour Christina remembered her best friend. "Ohmigod! Rachel, I haven't seen her since we ran into the park." 

"This park?" Justina looked around warily. 

Christi shook her head, "No, no." She paused then grabbed the girl's arm, "We have to get away from here Justina. I don't care what you say, but I think Angel killed Rachel and I think he plans to kill us, too." 

"You are whacked!" Justina looked at her as if she was crazed. 

"Nope, she's quite sane," Angel said, stepping from behind a tree, "but hopefully not for long." 

The girls looked at him in shock, fear beginning to dawn in Justina's eyes. "You should have listened to Christina and run." He motioned to the tree he appeared from, "I've been back here listening to your little conversation, I might have even let you go. You know," he talked to Christi, "you should have just left her to her fate. This one deserves it," and he changed. 

Justina screamed. 

"Now, now, that's not part of the game, isn't that right Christina?" 

Christi, on the other hand, found a surprising calm as she tightened her grip on the fellow teen. "Come on." 

"But, but--" 

"He wants us to run," she said with cold composure, "at least this way we'll have a chance," she said quietly. "If we don't he'll just kill us here, isn't that right?" 

Angel smiled, "I love smart toys." 

Pulling Justina behind her, Christina ran headlong for the forest, past Angel into the well kept brush. 

"Run pets! Run straight into my arms!" His voice called after them. 

And they ran. 

Hermoine sat before the computer. Tedious though research seemed to her ward, Mayja, she enjoyed it. Rummaging through the old tomes -- though many had been transferred to computer files by Rupert Giles and the Witch Willow -- cross referencing sources, coming up with a solution to a problem that was otherwise insolvable -- to be honest Hermoine simply enjoyed discovering the knowledge. Not even all Watcher's shared her love for the simple knowledge and those who did usually became Researchers. Hermoine hadn't been the kind for simple Research, though. 

Feeling slightly stumped she connected to the WatchNet. She checked the user online list and found who she was looking for. 

_Bishop, may I speak with you?_ She sent the query and waited. 

"Is he following us," Justina asked in a breathless rush. 

"He could be running right beside us for all we'd know," she, too, was breathless. They stopped at the tangled branches of an old oak. 

_Snap!_ A twig broke somewhere behind them. 

Justina jumped up. "He's right behind us isn't he?! Isn't he?!" The girl ran off in her fright. 

"No! Justina, don't go by yourself!" But the girl was gone. _And so's her fool life,_ Christina thought bitterly to herself. Should she run after her? Probably not, but she was going to anyway. 

_Of course Hermoine,_ Bishop typed back. _How can I be of service?_

She smiled when his message popped up. Present and past Watchers of active Slayers tried to keep in touch, but it could be hard to find them. Watchers weren't always social creatures. They were historians, they were people interested in the supernatural, they came from a long line of Watchers-- some were born from a long line of recluses too -- and, most of all, they were English. 

_I need some information about your ward, Christina the Vampire Slayer_, she sent. 

_LOL_, he said to indicate laughter, _I didn't realize u could be so flowery Hermoine._

She snorted to herself. _Come now Bishop, u know me better than that. Will u help me?_

_Of course._

Sighing to herself, she sent, _What's the strangest thing that has ever happened to Christina?_

_Hmm, I'll have 2 think about that. Let me check my journals._

_WAIT!!!_ she "shouted" at him. _I already did that. _

Apparently she'd gotten his attention because he responded immediately with, _I would hope so! I'd heard u were an exceptional Watcher, I wouldn't like to discover otherwise. I meant my personal journals. Those r a little more extensive. Will you b online a while longer?_

_No, I actually have things to do in the morning. Email them 2 me, will u?_

_Of course. Good-night Hermoine._

_Good-night Bishop._

"Justina!" Christina called in a fierce hiss. She'd been chasing the girl for ten minutes. Angel had been following her almost all along. Oh certainly, she'd been able to elude him occasionally, but searching for that girl had made her less cautious. 

And she was afraid. He could smell it coming off her in waves. She was afraid for that stupid nitwit and for herself. Christi had never forgotten why she was out here, running, in the first place. She knew that he followed her. _Run pets! Run into my arms! _she heard his voice with every whisper of the wind. It was no trick of her mind, she was sure. He was taunting her, stoking her fears. Even her bitten finger ached. If she stopped running she would simply collapse on her knees and cry till he came for her. No! That wasn't an option. Christina had to find Justina and, if it was possible, stop Angel. 

But could she? 

"Justina!" she hissed. 

Twigs snapped and leaves crunched underfoot somewhere behind her. Her gossamer resolve snapped. Christina ran headlong into the woods, not minding the semi-bare spring branches that slapped her face or the way errant bushes snagged her "skirt." All she heard was the sound of feet behind her with a slim hope of freedom before her. 

It was some time before she noticed that no one was there any longer. Slowing she made her way into a clearing, the same clearing from where she and Justina had split. Spinning around, confused, she realized she'd been herded here. And she saw him. 

Angel walked into the clearing, bearing Justina limply in his arms. Christi watched, horrified. He looked down at the nearly dead girl. "She was tasty. Not as satisfying as your friend, but then again she's not exactly pure if you know what I mean." He cocked his head, "I see you don't. She's been sniffing -- coke I suspect. Ah, but you wouldn't know about that. Bet you don't even imbibe," he was speaking more to himself than to her, realizing that she was a captive audience, in a manner of speaking. "But," he looked up at her, "if you'd like to find out what it's like, I'll share," he said as his face changed. 

She ran then, the sound of his laughter at her heels. 

Angel was right behind her, then he wasn't. He was playing with her mind again, she knew. One moment she felt Angel's breath on her neck, the next letting her think she'd dodged away just in time only for him to suddenly appear in her path. 

Unexpectedly, there he was. She couldn't stop herself from running straight into his arms. 

"Hello again. So very nice to see you, I was just about ready for my midnight snack," he said merrily before snarling, his features hard and alien, eyes inhuman. 

Christina screamed as he bit into her neck. 

14 

Angel jerked upright. His muscles ached, his body sweaty from exertion-- vampires didn't sweat -- as his heart pounded. He wondered whether it was from the physical effort or the mental image of killing his wife. 

Hermoine. He had to call Hermoine tonight, if not tomorrow. There was something more to these dreams than mere coincidence. They were parts of a sequence, real as any memory, that someone or thing was determined he know. Were They trying to convey some allegorical message? Then why use the image of himself and his wife and a night that had been the beginning for them, instead of an ending. 

_They, they, they..._ Thinking of Them, the Other, reminded him of his rare encounters with the spokespersons for The Powers That Be. They were an otherworldly pair. Dressed in the style of the Ancient Greeks, they sported blue flowered designs on their faces, arms and necks of their gold skin. Brother and sister though they appeared to be, but for all Angel knew they were celestial lovers. He remembered finding their murdered bodies of the first pair. What he did know was they'd answered his questions before, that it was expected he'd bring a gift, the woman was kinder than the man and he'd have to find someone who knew how to open the Door. 

15 

Hermoine checked her e-mail early the next morning. Usually she handled things like this during school hours, especially during the first few periods of class when she was least likely to be disturbed. Unfortunately Ms. Rogets' 20th Century American History classes were going to be in the library for the entire morning. That meant Hermoine had to play High School Librarian all day and would probably have very little time to herself. She'd even had to reschedule training with Mayja till much later tonight, just before patrol. It was going to be a tiresome day. 

Twelve messages, one of them new, Hermoine smiled to herself reading the screen. She scrolled down. There it was. _Former Slayer Query_, he'd put in the subject box. She wondered how long he'd stayed up looking for this. She opened the file. 

If you don't remember, though I'm sure you do, you asked what is the strangest thing that's happened to myself and the Slayer Christina during her tenure. While checking my personal journals I discovered reference to something I might have left out of my official journals. 

During her fourth year as Slayer, Christina was caught between alternate realities of our universe. You will remember there is precedence for this as during the tenure of the Slayer Buffy when Cordelia foolishly asked then-demon Anya for a world w/o the slayer. In this world kind, friendly comrades of Buffy's, Xander and Willow were the favored vampires of the Master, who had not been killed filling the niche created by Spike and Drusilla. Angel was little more than Willow's pet for torture, and Sunnydale was all but abandoned. 

Christina was drawn into another variation of our reality in which Angel turned her into a vampire before she could realize her destiny. I was able to retrieve her from it before irreparable damage was done. However, the spirit of her vampire self followed her into our reality taking over her body. The change was so complete that she herself could become a vampire. The changes, luckily, did not last for long as their souls were in constant battle. It would seem that Christina is a receptacle for the actions of the supernatural as she has been known to see ghosts, has occasionally been possessed by them and other activities with the supernatural. As far as I know she has mastered these "gifts" -- she does not think of them as such. 

Hopefully this has helped you. Contact me for any more information. 

Bishop 

Yes! Contacting Bishop had been an excellent idea. Angel had said something similar, if not identical, to what the Watcher had sent. She must contact him immediately. Not only Angel, but she must talk to Bishop again and involve him in the dilemma. Yes, this was working out quite well. 

Going off-line, Hermoine drank the dregs of her Darjeeling tea, grimaced and prepared to go to "work."   
[][1]  


   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	3. 16-19

Body

16 

Angel's pager went off. He found a vizuphone and dialed in to check his message. It was from Christina. 

"Hey love. I just found out my evening class is canceled. Your still working on that case right? Anyway," at that point her hair whipped in her face, "bloody hair, um, what was I saying? Oh, since your probably going to be home after me why don't I cook dinner. Now don't make a face, cause I know you are, it'll be something simple. 'Kay? See you when you come home." She smiled then, as he watched, hung up the vizuphone. 

He was indeed on a case. Angel had never quite given up the detective business, though he tended to stay away from demon cases now that he was only human. Somehow he doubted Christi would be happy if he looked more like bruised fruit than himself. However, for the moment it was on the back burner, as the saying went. Right now he was in search of someone who could open the Door between worlds so that he might speak with The Powers That Be. Well, speak with their representatives. 

There was the matter of the gift, of course. But that could wait till he knew he could actually talk to them. This was becoming mildly nerve wracking. It was coming to the point where Angel nearly dreaded sleep. It wasn't that he couldn't handle his share of nightmares -- he had been one -- but who wants to watch himself kill his wife? Who wants to feel it as if it were real, not just some weird dream or memory, but an actual living experience? But sooner or later Christina would notice. Angel was trying to protect her which was why he'd purposely not mentioned his dreams of late. Why worry her? 

Angel's pager went off again. No vizuphone nearby, he'd have to wait till later to view the message. It must not be too important or else the person would have left a numeric page. Christi was trying to get him to buy portable viz, but he was almost stubborn in his refusal. It was too bad because he was beginning to realize that he'd not be home till much later than usual. 

As the night wore on he realized it would be extremely late. Christina was probably becoming annoyed with him. Whatever dinner she'd prepared was cold now. Back in his office Angel phoned the apartment. 

"Angel where are you?!" she asked, worried. This wasn't like her. Or at least, she hadn't acted like this since becoming the Slayer. Fighting vampires, demons and outer ghoulies had made worrying over his being late-- as he often was -- minutiae. 

"I'm at the office," he replied slowly, trying to calm her. "I'll don't know if I'll be home tonight." He paused a moment, "Are you all right?" 

She nodded. "I'm just glad you called. I was starting to freak out." 

He gave her an odd look, but she didn't seem to notice. "Well, as long as your okay. So I might not be home till morning." 

"That's fine," she answered. Christina had visibly calmed and seemed more like herself. "So, how 'bout I have breakfast ready for you?" 

"Sounds great." 

She smiled. " 'Till the morning," and blew him a kiss. 

"Hey, what exactly are you wearing?" Angel'd barely noticed past her behavior although the vizuphone allowed him to see her from the waist up. 

Christina laughed. "Just got out of the shower. Too bad your not home." She smiled somewhat devilishly and broke connection. 

It was, as he suspected, some time before Angel came home. It wasn't, as he feared, after breakfast. Actually Christina was just finishing the toast when he walked in, exhausted. "This was easier when I was a vampire." 

She turned then, walking to her husband. "Aw, poor baby. Look at it this way love," she wrapped her arms around him, "as a vamp, would we do this?" She kissed him with a hungriness that surprised as much as it aroused him. 

Angel drew her closer, but she pulled away, keeping him at arms length. "Nuh-uh, breakfast is getting cold and now that I know I'm going to eat it with you I want to enjoy it while it's edible. That and your company," her smile was full of promise. 

He groaned. 

She laughed. 

Breakfast went better than either expect. The sexual tension took a temporary back seat to animated discussion about Angel's current case, which eventually made it's way to Christi's doctor visit. 

"Turned out it's just fatigue. Nothing that can be cured with a drug, nothing that can't be cured with better sleeping habits, or so says Doc. Medora. Actually, she suggested that I do more exercise." She laughed, "Isn't that ironic, I'm a Slayer and my doctor tells me to do more exercise." Getting up, she took their plates and dropped them -- carefully -- into the sink. 

Angel was nursing his coffee -- caffeine was the only thing keeping him awake. "Christina, your a Slayer, an ex-Slayer. You don't do much real slaying anymore. Your more busy with school and writing, things that have you sitting a lot. You're used to being more active. I think your doctor has a point. And your not eating," he made reference to the food she had been toying with. 

She looked back at him somewhat crossly. 

"Don't get mad at me," he said defensively. 

"Not mad, just...I don't know," she shifted out of the sun coming in through the kitchen window, "I suppose your right. I've even been feeling more alive at night. Symptoms of Slayer withdrawal?" 

He smiled. "_Just_ Slayer withdrawal, I'm sure." He came around the table then. "So, no baby," he asked, arms around her 

She looked up and back at him, shook her head and said, "No baby. Thought you'd forgotten for a moment." 

"Something that important? Nah. Besides, your not eating for two." He indicated the food in the garbage and kissed her head. 

Turning around, Christina sniffed at her husband, ignoring the second comment. "Hmm, smells like someone could use a shower." 

Angel grinned, "Care to join me?" 

"Tonight, darling," she grinned back. "My graduate advisor wants to see me and," she paused, "what I have in mind needs more patience andtime than I have." She nipped his chin. "Go, get clean," she said changing the subject. (_How do women do that?_ Angel wondered.) "I should be ready to go by the time you're done. 

"Oh, and Hermione called just before you got in, said to call back anytime this morning." 

Angel's "thanks" was muffled beneath his shirt. "I'll call her back after the shower." 

Christina barely heard him though. Instead she was busy picking up dropped clothing and mulling over a dream she had. It was interesting in a weird way. Course her dreams were always weird, but this one was weird _and_ memorable. That made it worth telling Angel about, if he cared to listen. If she had time. Well, she could always tell him later when she got home. 

A cloud of steam announced Angel was finished. "So," he said drying his hair with a towel, "you're leaving now?" 

"No. Actually, you finished earlier than I thought you would. I don't have to leave for a while still. Going to bed then?" she asked, putting away things here and there. 

"Why?" 

She shrugged, "Oh, well, I had this dream las-" 

"Oh," Angel buried his head in his hands "not," fell flat onto his back, on their bed, melodramatically, "another dream." 

Christina laughed at his dramatics and bounded onto the bed with him. "It's not so bad, silly. Anyhow, I thought your dream/nightmares stopped." 

He mumbled something incoherent into her shoulder. 

"Uh huh. Whatever." She leaned up on her elbow, "So, do you want to hear it or not?" 

Something else incoherent. 

"I'll take that as a yes. 

"Okay. So it started here in the house. We were apparently throwing a party for some pretty snooty people. Anywho, I was sitting, crosslegged, on the couch next to some guy who thought he was all that. He was trying to talk to me, you know, get my attention. Like I should know him. Like he was special or some- 

"Are you listening to me?" 

"Mmf-hmm," Angel nodded mumbling into the bedcovers. 

He was listening she was sure. Otherwise he'd be snoring. "So, he apparently thought he was Mr. All That and that I should be worshipping the couch space he sat on. So, you know me, I couldn't let him think he was Mr. Wonderful, especially when you were standing right across from us. 

"Okay, here's where it gets interesting. To show the little prick up I decided to let him see just how little he was. I reached over my crossed legs as if I was trying to stretch or something, you know, down to the floor. In the process my body rippled or something," she paused, her stomach grumbling. 

"Shoulda finished breakfast." 

Christina ignored him and her stomach and continued, "All I know is I made it to the floor without unfolding myself, walked over to you and stood up. Yeah, I know, but for some reason I wasn't standing fully. Anyhow, I stood up and kissed you smack on the lips. It drove the girls who were hanging around you away, which was a plus. So, mind dissolving kiss finished I turned around and Stupidly Gawking Guy and smiled evily, lashing my tail." 

"Your what?!" Angel sat up. 

"My tail." She grinned. "Told you it was weird. Apparently I'd changed or morphed into a cat on my way to you and didn't totally go back human when I reached you. Guess that means I want a cat?" 

He groaned. 

"But that's not all," Christi said, ignoring her husband. 

Who took the opportunity to groan again. 

"The scene shifted to a wooded area behind town--" she didn't notice, but Angel had started to pay attention, "--and there we were, well, you, me, Sonji and Rachel. Anyway, apparently I had fallen into the stream and you guys were looking for me. You thought I would freeze to death. Wonder why. Maybe we weren't in California? Anyway, I did die of hypothermia. I was wearing this crimson muslin dress, almost the color of blood--" Christi didn't notice but when she mentioned the dress she licked her lips as if hungry. 

Angel noticed. 

"--and it weighed me down. But I wasn't dead. I could hear you all above me, argueing, looking for me, thinking I was dead. I fought the water and surfaced. You guys barely noticed when I came out," her voice had taken on a far away sound, "half frozen, slightly blue. My dress was covered in little icicles." 

Angel had gotten up when he first noted her strange behavior, she hadn't noticed. He'd sat back on the bed, wondering if her dream related to his. 

"Then you turned around and saw me. You all stopped talking and stared at me." She paused, running her tongue over her teeth. 

"I was so hungry. Angel," she looked at him, something feral in her eyes, _"I'm so hungry."_

Christina lunged for him. 

17 

"So you're saying she's a vampire," Hermoine asked incredously. 

"Yes," Angel replied a second time, "and a strong one at that. How do you think I got these marks?" He raised his bruised arms to the tele-cam and exposed his clawed neck. 

Hermoine grimaced. "Yes, those are rather nasty. But are you sure? I mean," she hastily interjected when she saw Angel's look, "if Christina's a vampire what did you do with her?" 

"I locked her in the sun room." 

"You did what?!" Hermoine asked, outraged. "But, but," she sputtered, "she'll combust! Angel you've killed her!" 

"No she won't," Angel replied calmly, "considering she's been in there for over an hour and hasn't so much as gotten a tan." 

She was thoroughly confused. "How is that possible?" 

"I don't know," Angel said, shaking his head, "but that's not the only weird thing. Christina doesn't look like a vampire." 

"What do you mean 'doesn't look like a vampire?'" 

"Well, she's got the fangs, but they're more delicate. But her face is the major difference. Christi doesn't look demonic at all. There are no obvious changes at all, although she does look more feral. And I'm not sure but I think her irises open wider than a humans. I think whatever changes occur are simply less visible than her fangs, which aren't obvious either unless you're close up. But I guess by then it's too late," he added with a grim humor 

Hermoine looked awed. "That's amazing. Perhaps she's a new breed of vampire, or maybe she hasn't been fully transformed. Perhaps--" 

"Hermoine!" 

"What?" 

"Hermoine, she's my wife, not some specimen to examine." 

She looked slightly abashed. "Right. Quite sorry, Angel. Now we have to figure out why she's not frying to a crisp." Hermoine thought for a moment. "Angel, does Christi still have that carved silver cuff set with lapis lazuli?" 

"Yes, but--" 

"And does she wear it often?" 

"Christina's been known to fall asleep with it on. It's her everyday piece. But what does that have to do with anything?" 

Hermoine seemingly ignored his question, "Would you know its design if you saw it?" 

"Yes, but what does that have to do with her being a vampire?" Angel asked, exasperated. 

"Give me a moment and we'll find out." She moved out of range of the telecam. 

Angel was frustrated. He was certain Hermoine had gone of to search for something she thought was helpful, but she wouldn't _say_ what or how. Well, at least he could see how Christina was doing trapped in what he'd told Hermoine was the sun room. It was actually a greenhouse added by the previous owners wrapped around the two blind sides of the apartment. For most of the day it was extremely sunny and hot. 

And that's where Angel'd put his wife turn vampire. She was still there, sitting wanly it what little shade she could find. The light kept her too weak to to break the greenhouse's heavy door. He wasn't sure when he realized their fight had moved into full sunlight. The realization had nearly finished him. When his guard was down Christina took the opportunity and went for the throat. That's where the claw marks came from. 

Christi felt his eyes on her. Slowly she turned to look at him. Her gaze was full of abject hunger. He'd called Hermoine right after locking her in the sun room. Maybe he should feed her now. 

"Angel? Angel, where are you? I'm back," he heard Hermoine call through the viz. 

He dashed back to his office. "Yeah, I'm right here. Just checking on Christi." 

"Oh good, I think I've--" Angel held up his hand. 

"I'll be right back Hermoine. I have to feed her." 

She wrinkled her brows, perplexed. 

"Christina." He paused. Face stony, he said, "She's hungry." 

"Oh," Hermoine looked abashed. 

"So, you were saying, about the arm cuff Christina wears?" 

Hermoine perked up. "Oh, yes." She held up the picture from an ancient tome. "Does this look familiar?" 

Angel studied it. "That's the design on the arms of Christi's cuff." 

"And it's what's keeping her from frying out in your greenhouse." 

"What?" 

Hermoine explained. Apparently the symbols were more than decoration, but a simple spell. 

"But I've seen vampires with similiar cuffs die of immolation." 

"That's because it's the lapis lazuli that makes it work," she said, smiling self satisfied. "It hasn't been a popular or well researched stone for many years. The symbols are better known. Most simply wear them out of superstition, keeping the usual precautions in mind." 

Angel nodded, "So if she takes it off --" 

"Poof." 

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. Now what can we do about it?" 

Hermoine shook her head. "I'm sorry Angel, I haven't figured that part out yet. Give me a little time." 

"In the meantime I have an idea," he said more to himself than Hermoine. 

"What was that?" she asked. 

He waved her off, "Nothing, yet. Just an idea." He took a deep breath before saying, "You keep searching and get back to me." 

He was about to disconnect when Hermoine said, "Do you think this has anything to do with what Bishop told me?" 

Grimly Angel said, "That's what I'm about to find out." 

18 

She was older, but either time, or magick, had been kind to Willow. After her retirement she'd taken over The Magick Shoppe in Sunnydale. Being there reminded her of the days with the "scooby gang," as Cordelia had maliciously dubbed Buffy and her friends/teammates. The name had stuck. Now she was the source of magical ingredients for the town's small population of witches. 

Oz was somewhere doing something. There's had been an interesting marriage. Oz was simply...well Oz. Except for turning into a werewolf ever full moon it was as much a mystery as ever. He was an icon around town to young rockers starting their craft. 

And they were happy. They'd been around the world and seen things most people only had nightmares about. One such nightmare, or former nightmare, walked in her store. 

"Hello? Is anyone here?" 

"Angel!" 

He turned, "Willow? You look wonderful," he said as she stepped into his arms for a hug. "It's been so long." 

She smiled up at him, "Oh, not so long. I can still keep an eye on you with a scrying glass." 

Angel quirked an eyebrow at her, "You haven't have you?" 

"Well," she said cryptically, "not all the time." 

"I've missed you," he said smiling. 

"Me too. Although it's not like you've been keeping in touch. Look at you, you don't look a day over 25 or 26. Or should I say 250 or 260 years old?" she asked teasingly. 

He grinned at her, "Well, except the occasional scry, I haven't heard from you either, and I must say, time has been even better to you." Angel glanced quickly around. "So where's Oz?" 

Willow shrugged. "He's somewhere. If not at the back of the shop then maybe at the Bronze." 

"Is that still standing?" he asked as she took him around to the back. 

She laughed, "It's the best place in Sunnydale to hang out. Or more to the point, it's the only place." They sat down. "So, what can I do for you?" 

"How'd you know?" 

She smiled in a sad way, "You've got that look." 

Angel frowned, "What look?" 

"The one Buffy had when you first went bad, like you don't know what to do because the world as you know it is falling apart and somehow you're sure it's _your fault_." She shrugged in a noncommittal way, "I kind of know the look." 

All Angel could say was, "Oh." 

"So I'm guessing it has something to do with Christina?" He nodded. "I thought so. What's the problem? What do you need from the shop?" 

"Not from the shop, from you." 

Willow blinked. "Oh? You need me to work a spell? I thought you were pretty good at that." 

"I am," he paused, trying to figure out how to put it to her, "but I don't know how to open the Door." 

"You want an audience with The Gaurdians?" 

Angel nodded. 

"But -- why?" 

Shaking his head he said, "I can't tell you that Willow." Before she could protest he said, "Just trust me. I'm trying to help Christina--" 

"What's wrong?" 

"But I can't get into details. Not yet at least. Not until I know what The Guardians have to say." 

Willow had begun to pace, she stopped for and turned to him. "Haven't you been there before already?" Angel nodded. "If I remember correctly, they're a little picky about who they receive and especially how many times they receive them. Are you sure they won't just dismiss you out of hand?"  
"I'm not," he shrugged, "but I have to try." 

"I understand. Well, actually I don't but--" 

Angel interrupted her saying, "I promise to fill you in after I see them Will, but I need to know what they say. I have a theory but -- I don't know." He shook his head. "I just don't know." 

"Um, hello?" 

In the empty "space" between one time/dimension and another was, well, no one. This wasn't what Angel had been expecting. His first visit came to mind: he'd forgotten to bring a gift, of course Doyle failed to mention he should bring one. _'What, you didn't know?' he'd said and shook his head in a pityingly_. There had been two of them, a man and women of indeterminate age. Their skin was gold, blue leaf patterns adorning their bodies instead of jewelry. Most interesting was their choice of clothing. They wored Roman toga's and their "space" reminded him of that time, although it was before him. 

And today there was no one here. 

"Of course someone is here. We are always here. The question becomes, what are you doing here and have you brought me a gift?" 

Angel was startled by a woman's voice behind him. Quickly he turned around and was shocked again. She was wearing his wife's face. The Guardian was dressed in pale yellow and skin held a faint sparkle to it. Her body was decorated with twining vines of gold along the sides of her face and down her arms. But the Guardian's face was his wife's. The only difference was the upswept curly hair. 

"Ah, it's you. We've been expecting you and I'm still waiting." 

Hastily Angel pulled a plastic case containing a microchip and reader and gave it to her. "Oo, what is it?" 

"This chip can hold more information in it than in one human's, or even a vampire's, imagination," he explained. He really wanted to ask her why she was wearing his wife's face. 

She smiled before tucking it into a "fold" of her costume. "Now, you have a question of me? 

Angel wondered where the other one was. 

"I like it, that's why. Does it throw you off balance?" she said answering his first, unspoken question, " and he doesn't like you very much and decided to let me be our voice," the Guardian said, reading his mind and answering his second unspoken question. 

"Uh, okay," Angel answered. He cleared is throat before saying, "I'm here for my wife. Something's very wrong with her and I don't know what it is. She's been changed into some kind of vampire, but not." His hands moved futily trying to create out of the air something Angel couldn't explain himself. 

The Guardian nodded. "We know what's wrong, but why should we help you? You are no longer our Chosen, we released you from that. Likewise, it is not our habit to simply help any mortal who comes to us foolishly thinking we can solve his problems. We are more than simple oracles, Angel." 

He knew this was going to come up. They hadn't exactly been jumping to his aid fifty years ago when he'd asked to be turned back into a vampire. It had been the female Guardian who convinced the other. Now all his arguments seemed to fade into the void of Between. 

Empty handed, Angel said, "I don't know why you should help me. All I know is she's my wife and even if you can't fix her you can help me. At least tell me what's going on." It was the only plea he could come up with. 

"Hermoine know's what is wrong. Or at least she's close." The Guardian smiled at him. "We cannot 'fix' Christina, but we can help you. Come here." 

She walked to window Angel hadn't noticed before, he followed. "Look out the window. What do you see?" 

Angel looked. There was a woman who looked liked the Guardian version of his wife. She walked beside a man Angel didn't know. As he watched the man faded from view and Christina's hair straightened and grew longer. The sun set in moments. Christina was suddenly hunched over a man, different from the first, drinking his blood? Angel wasn't sure, but before he could decide their roles reversed and he could clearly see her being bitten and drunk from. "What is this?" 

"You are looking at a simplified version of Time, specifically your wife's part in it. In another few seconds you'll see her carrying your baby in her arms and then she will fade from view entirely." 

Angel looked back quickly, "What?!" 

"Didn't you know?" The Guardian looked him over. "No, of course you don't. Mortals are such ignorant creatures. What you are seeing is Christina almost literally walking across timelines. In some she exists, in others she doesn't. Even in the ones she does exist there are various versions of her. In the first one you saw, she is dating that man, in the second she is a vampire and third she is being killed by her former victim, a vampire. In some you have never met in others you are bitterest enemies. 

"You would call these alternate realities. They are both the same. There is even a, how would you put it, Romeo and Juliet like reality in which you are already married and she is not, but you have fallen in love. Some of us have been watching that one avidly. 

"The woman you have locked in your greenhouse at home is not in fact your wife. Some time ago the a few realities moved close together through the act of a demoness, but that's moot. Because your wife is a channel for spirits and has had something like this happen to her before the boundaries between her Here self and her There self have become thin to non-existing. Your wife is There and this other woman is Here. In Christina Prime's world you are her sire. Of course the vampires There are radically different from what you recognize," she looked at him, "but you know that already." 

Angel looked at her amazed. "And that's what's wrong." He wanted to sit down, and for a moment thought he was. 

"But it's not her fault. Remember, there is another Angel and his world is falling apart. Christina Prime is a pawn and pawns have directors behind the scenes." 

"My dreams," Angel exclaimed, but by then the Guardian had pushed him back into his own world. 

19 

Christina looked around. She didn't know where she was and, had she not been full of opiates, she would have noticed her hands and feet were shackled to the floor. As it was, she could barely lift her head. Instead she laid her head down on the cold stone floor and slept. 

The sun was setting and Christina was getting antsy. Soon she'd be able to break down that door this other Angel had used to bar her in her weakened state, but not for long. She and Angel, her Angel, had a lot of plans, but they hinged on her success. Christina looked at the bags of -- what were they? -- pigs blood and scowled at them in disgust. She figured at least in this world she wouldn't be reduced to animal bloodagain. It had been such a hard fight against her other self to switch over and he'd been _right there_! So close and she was so hungry! Why hadn't her other self eaten? Oh, right, she hadn't let her. Christina remembered watching her other self prepare breakfast and soon found herself sick. Maybe it was because she was so close this world's Christi had barely picked at her food. This thinking of oneself in two ways was becoming annoying. Ugh! Why hadn't she just let the girl eat! At least then she could have strung this Angel along till he was at least asleep. And now her canines ached. Christina gently ran her tongue over her lengthening fangs. All her senses were becoming heightened, more so than usual. Her nostrils flared, but the only smell they caught, other than that of _green_, was the little blood she had left in the bags Angel had thrown her. Now her fangs pinched her bottom lip. Angel, her Angel, thought they were sexy in their deadly delicate way. A growl rumbled from within and her fingernails seemed to ache. They too were slowly growing. Rocking back and forth on her heels Christina idly scratched ruts in the greenhouse floor. 

Christi sat awkwardly on the hard floor. 

Angel watched her from someplace above in the rafters. She couldn't see him from because of the chains holding her down, but he had an excellent view. How he longed to bite her. He wondered what it would be like. He'd gotten his Christina before she could realize her destiny, but this one was fully blossomed. She was self confident in a way his might never be yet she held that insufferable quality that he figured Slayers in all realities shared. 

_God, what must she taste like?_ he wondered. Angel hadn't had a Slayer in decades. Maybe he'd try her out when he finally gained purchase in her reality. Yes. He could save her for his victory party. 

Angel grinned wolfishly to himself. 

You look around. It is dark, but you can see. _So there are benefits to being a Slayer,_ you think. Whatever has been numbing you're mind and body have worn off. You notice the chains holding you down. It is cold here, but you barely notice it. Like so many things, your body registers cold at a higher (or lower) level than most humans. But you aren't exactly human either. Oh, you are, but you aren't. You're parents are human. Their parents are human and their parents are human, but if you had the time to take your nose out of school books you would see in the line of women -- on your mother's side of course -- is another human/not human matriarch. It runs in your blood, but you don't know that. 

Not that any of this matters at this moment. 

You tentatively raise your hands. They are weighed down by heavy cuffs attached to heavy chains. You look at your feet, they too are bound. You sigh. _How do I get into these things?_ you wonder to yourself. 

This makes you pause. How did you get into this particular predicament? Weren't you telling your husband a story last time you were conscious? Yes. You were. You remember it vividly. You also remember an all encompassing hunger...it is here your memory fails you. What happened? 

You raise a manacled hand to your temple and shake your head. It is now that your stomach decides to remind you of its presence. "Yes, I'm here!" it calls to you, loudly rumbling. Absently you scowl at it, trying to figure a way out of these fregged chains. 

"Hungry?" 

You know that voice. You look up with startled recognition. 

"I could hear you from the rafters." 

He walks with a swagger and wears a maliciously gleeful smile you have only read about. He grins at you. _Are those his fangs?! _ you ask yourself, but you already know the answer. 

_What's wrong with his face?_ But you know that one, too. 

"Too bad the only food I have here is only fit for a vampire--" 

You stare at him incredously. This can't be him, you're sure. But a little voice niggles at you saying, "No, no, no. It's him all right, _but not the one you know..._" 

"of course--" 

your not really listening to him, but he thinks you are. It must be that petrified look that hasn't left your face. You don't notice. Instead you are listening to the little claxons going off in your head. Your mind has finally cleared enough of its pharmacuetical invasion to sound its warning bells. "You should not be here. You are Elsewhere. This is not home, you are Elsewhere," it sings to you in a lilting mantra. You look up at him 

"I could always turn you into one." 

_but I already knew that_, you tell your warning bells. 

  
[][1]  
  
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   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	4. 20-23

Body

20 

_"Angel, can we talk?" Christina asks nervously._

_He walked over to his fiancee. "Sure, what about?" he asks, wrapping his arms around her, noticing her nervousness._

_"Let's sit." They do. "This is kind of strange for me to talk about. You'd think," she absently waved her hand in the air to indicate something or other._

_"I'd think what?" Angel asks playfully._

_"That I wouldn't be or have some experience or something, but I don't know much about this and it's never really come up, especially at home in New York and then when you brought me here I was so busy with Slayer duties--"_

_Angel interrupts her tense rambling. "You're not making any sense." He takes her hands in his and kiss her fingertips. "Slow down, take a breath and break up your sentences." He smiles._

_Smiling back Christina takes a deep breath. "I don't mind sharing you with the ghost of Buffy."_

_Angel stops her. "You're not sharing me with anyone. Besides, Buffy's not dead to be a ghost," he says jokingly, trying to diffuse her worry._

_Christina starts to ignore him, "But--," then changes her mind, "No. No. _

_"You're right. Buffy's not dead, but she is a ghost of your past. You haven't seen her in years and I don't know why--" she raises a hand to stop him from interrupting, "and I don't care why. What happened between you and The Slayer was long before I was born. But that's not my point. _

_"Angel, you can take your life, your entire existence, and divide it by Buffy. Before her you didn't know the limits of your self and soul and after her you knew. She was the first person you really loved for a century and a half and even though I know you've had feelings for other women besides her," Christi shakes her head, "there is no one like her." She wraps her hands around his, "_And I can't compete_, and I don't want to. I'm not going to try to make you forget, that'd be mean of me. Besides its impossible."_

_Angel is floored. Mentally, he has avoided his entire experience with Buffy. Half a century later it is emotionally difficult to deal with still. He simply buried it, but if Angel is honest with himself he can see Christi is right. Buffy has never left him, he has just ignored her presence. "So what are you trying to say?"_

_"Just that. I realize Buffy is..." she seems to not know where to go with this thought, "maybe I should just get into the 'but' of this whole thing._

_"I don't mind sharing you and my life with the ghost of Buffy," here she stops and with serious gravity she says, _"but she will not share my bed_."_

_Angel objects. He would never bring Buffy's memory into their marriage like that._

_Christi shakes her head. "No. There are simply too many similarities between me and Buffy." Her voice drops to a whisper, her eyes focused on their hands, "Whenever our first time is, it will be my first time and you will be my first" she looks up at him, "can you tell me that it won't remind you of her? that anything we do won't take you back to that moment?" Angel doesn't answer her. "At least I brought it up before the wedding." She lets their hands drop, pushes back her chair and stands._

_Walking around the table Angel catches her hand. "Are you saying you want to break off the wedding?" he asks in a tense whisper._

_She looks at him. A tear rolls down her cheek, out of his sight, "No, of course not. I love you." She kisses him on the forehead and leaves._

_Angel touches his head and looks at the tear on his fingertips._

21 

She was coming to. He sat there staring at her. Oh, she would be his prize jewel, and she had tasted so sweet. There, her eyelids were fluttering. He wondered how long he could keep her going like this, running her then feeding off her till she collapsed. She'd probably drop from exhaustion and anemia soon, besides there wasn't much night left. Well, actually that didn't matter, he could always run her around the warrens of the sewer system. 

Angel bit his finger, causing a drop of blood to flow. He quickly wiped it across the bite wound. It disappeared. Christi woke up, weak, dazed and frightened. 

"Aw, come on, _petite_, don't give up on me already," he said sarcastically. 

True to the hidden Slayer within she was on her feet in moments. Angel noticed she was slower than last time. He grinned. She fled. 

Lazily, Angel stood from his crouched position and followed the Slayer who never would be. 

Crashing through brambles, ripping her clothes and scratching her face, Christina, too, wondered how long she could go on. Although Angel left no marks on her, she knew he'd been feeding. The first time comes vividly to mind. Christi tripped, crying out as her arms were scratched even more. She has lost more skin from her hands. They burn, but she ignores it. Even if Christi could outrun him, she is positive he can track her by the smell of her blood alone. 

She's right. 

Christina was becoming entirely too easy to sniff out, but Angel liked the taste of adrenaline in his prey. Besides, who knew when he might get a Slayer to play with again? No, he was enjoying this too much. Too bad it would soon come to an end. 

Angel could almost feel her in his arms, his mouth, her neck, drinking her dry. At the thought he let a maniacal laugh that sent Christi scurrying further into the brush. 

There was something up ahead. Lights, maybe? _If that's town I'm saved_, Christina thought. With a final burst of speed that ate the last of her reserves, she ran for the lights. Maybe she was finally running toward the Festival Night carnival. Someone was bound to see her. She had to tell someone about Justina, had to show them where to find the body. The thought of leading a search party to her old enemy's body almost made Christina collapse, nauseated. She didn't like the girl, but she certainly didn't want her to die, especially not at the hands of a...a vampire. 

She was so close. So close Christi thought she could hear the carnival ahead of her. People were laughing and screaming, enjoying themselves. They were so close, so close, so... 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought you had more in you being a Slayer and all." Christina screamed, surprised and frightening. "Oh, did I scare you?" She'd collapsed in a crying, sweaty heap. 

"Come on! I guess you wouldn't have made much of Slayer after all," Angel sneered at the sobbing form. "Guess I'm doing the council a favor." She was a pitiful sight. "Ugh!," he exclaimed in disgust. Angel bent down to pick her up by her left arm 

As he lifted her, Christina slammed the heel of her hand into his jaw, knocking Angel back. 

"Yes! I knew you had spirit." He had her down with a leg sweep before she could regain her bearings. Refusing to give up, Christi kicked Angel as he hovered over her prone body and rolled into a standing position. 

"I'm not so easy to kill," she gasped out. She savagely rammed her elbow into his head. Angel fell. 

It was a kick of pure rage that did her in. Christina tried to stomp her left foot on Angel's neck, crushing his throat and giving her time to run away. She didn't know what she was dealing with. Instead, Angel grabbed the moving foot, upsetting Christi's precarious balance and landing her on her back. 

Angel was on her with preternatural speed. "I've always loved a woman with spirit," he said caressing the side of her face. "Now I get to drain it from you." 

Mercilessly, he tore into her neck. Christina spasmed in pain, back arching as Angel strained her heart for every red drop it processed. Her mouth hung open as her eyes rolled back into her head. 

In another life, this might have the tableau of two lovers in the woods, except here there was blood running down the woman's shoulder and breast. 

22 

Angel awoke, heart bounding, adrenaline pumping, mixed feelings of excitement and disgust rushing through him. It was becoming harder to tell where one feeling, one personality, left off and the other began. 

Unconsciously, he reached over to her side of the bed. Hands brushing cool sheets, Angel recalled his return to the apartment. 

Christina Prime was breaking through the door of the greenhouse as Angel walked in. With a high pitched laugh she cried, "Thought you could keep me here? Ha, ha, what you don't know about me is going to get you killed mortal, and I will have the pleasure of doing the killing!" Shocked, he stood stock still as Prime launched herself at him. Angel was sure it was instinct that made him defend himself rather than any conscious thought. 

Whirling around, he grabbed one of the wooden stakes lying about the apartment. Laughingly, Prime batted it away. "Well that's another thing that's different," Angel said, desperately searching for another weapon. "Where's a torch when you need one?! They work on everyone!" 

For the moment they were engaged in hand to hand combat as Prime backed him from greenhouse to the living room to study. Angel landed heavily on the woodstic work desk -- amazingly breaking it -- as the vampiress threw him across the room. He rolled over the wreck, throwing whatever he found in his hands. 

"Ugh!" Prime screamed as a small bottle of Holy Water broke against her exposed shoulder. 

"Yes!" Angel cried, mostly to himself. For some reason this only angered her. Christina Prime threw herself at him, her eyes flashing in fury, dilated into black holes. Instead of landing on him, Angel used her momentum to send Prime flying over his head into the wall. A nearby shelf of antique paper books and story tabstics collapsed. 

"Can't win little mortal!" she said pulling herself up. Angel's hand touched the cool handle of a knife. "You had me when the sun was shining but now the Evil Lady is down and you can't stop me." 

It wasn't a knife, but his wife's silver letter opener. He'd bought it for her many years before they were married. She'd received a snail mail and had no clue what to do with it. 

_"Hey, Angel. Um I have something, a letter actually. Do you have any clue how to open it? I've only seen them in pictures."_

_He'd laughed. "Here try this," he tossed her a letter opener. "Slip it under the side and draw it across."_

_She did. "Thanks!" She threw her arms around him in a quick hug then left the mansion._

Now Angel drew it out of the confusion of papers, fully intent on using it to kill this creature that looked and sounded exactly like his wife. He rushed her, surprising Prime and knocking her to the floor. Angel held the blade to her neck and watched as her eyes dilated wildly in fear. "Give me a reason not to kill you. Yes, I kinda figured I could kill you with this. Tell me, do you stake werewolves in your reality?" 

Prime was too frightened to reply. They'd never expected it be so hard to take over this world. 

"Come on, I'd much rather just get rid of you and figure out how to get my wife back." He pressed the letter opener closer, "Then again, if you want to die, I'll be happy to oblige you." 

"No! No, I can help you. I'm sure I can." 

Angel fought memories of hearing his Christina pleading so, rare as it was. "How?" 

"I...I can tell you what he's going to do next. I can tell you how he plans to take your world and how to bring the Master over with him even though--" 

Angel cut her off, "The Master?! The Master is destroyed." 

"He, he knows that. But he's figured out a way to bring him over without a host body in this plane." 

"Get up," he said, moving back so Prime could rise without assistance. Angel kept the knife to her neck. Slowly, he backed her towards the weapon store. Maybe she got an idea of what Angel was planning, or maybe Christina saw an opening , but she slammed a powerful kick to his side. He doubled over in pain but held onto the letter opener. Prime grabbed one of the chains hanging in the closet and, using both hands, swung it at him. 

Angel caught it -- painfully, but at the moment that was moot -- around his arm and yanked. Hard. With a surprised cry, Prime was pulled forward, into the point of the letter opener. It nicked the base of her throat causing a small bloom of blood that quickly grew and trickled down her chest. 

"Now," Angel asked in a low growl, "are you going to cooperate or should I just get rid of you now?" 

Prime nodded. 

"Good enough." 

She was still chained to a chair in the living room. She was probably hungry. He should see about her. He should see if she needed something. Maybe she was cold, maybe-- 

_Maybe what?! She's a _vampire_ not your wife, _Angel told himself._ Stop letting her appearance confuse you_. 

But it was hard. Especially after those dreams. Didn't the Oracle say that those dreams were important? 

Angel got up and looked for a legal pad. There were a stack of the genuine paper pads around here somewhere. He had bought a bunch a few decades ago, or something like that. Now, where did Christi put them? 

Thinking of Christi brought a stab of pain. His side was already sore from fighting Prime this morning, the emotional pain only made it worse. 

He found them. They were sitting stacked, nice and neat in a corner of his rarely used genuine wood desk. _I figure put all the real stuff together. I figure you'll find them eventually, Christi said with a laugh and shrug._ Two memories and a dream were almost more than Angel could take. He sniffled, trying to concentrate long enough to get his thoughts down. The mid Twenty-First Century had brought a renewed interest in manliness. Not that any of that mattered. Angel was born during the late Nineteenth Century. Manliness was it, though his father had often believed his son Liam to be a disgrace. 

But he was losing his concentration. On the pad he jotted down what he felt was important about each of his dreams. About halfway down he thought about Christi's dreams. One of them made her wake up screaming. The other two were much more unusual. She said she had...morphed? Changed shape without thinking about it? 

Suddenly his expereience with the Oracle came back. Maybe his wife had dreamed an alternate reality? Had she been trying to help him unconsciously? She hadn't used her gift of channeling spirits in years. Usually they contacted her but since she'd used it once, to save Bishop. The spirits didn't seem to need to speak through or to her anymore. Maybe they had been trying this time, trying to speak to both of them. 

He wrote it all down, lying on his stomach in the bed he shared with his wife. The one he would share with her again, soon. He promised himself. Besides, the dreams weren't done yet. 

23 

Angel circled Christina. Bound as she was it would have been pointless to follow him with her eyes. She didn't even bother trying. 

This was becoming frustrating. She couldn't find anything in the Chronicles that seemed to help and, try as he might, Bishop wasn't any more contributive. She was up at 1 in the morning, worrying over something that Angel seemingly had control of. Did he? He certainly seemed to after his talk with the Oracles. 

There was something she was missing about that, Hermoine was sure. Whatever it was, neither Angel or any of the Counsel members were forth coming. It just seemed as if no one needed her. As a Watcher she should be infinitely needed. She should be important. She should be useful. But no one had a use for her, at least not at the moment. Not even Mayja, her charge, needed her. It was slow in the Slaying world...except when it came to Angel. 

Somehow, Hermoine felt connected to this problem though she had been put off the case, in a sense. Oh, she was sure Angel would have need for her again, and probably soon. (Hopefully _someone_ would have need of her soon!) Still, it would not let her go. She supposed that was what made her a good Watcher. She was drawn in to a case or mystery and could not let it go until it was resolved...even when her specific help wasn't specifically needed. 

Surely there was something she could do! 

Sleep would be a nice change of pace. Hermoine laughed to herself. If she went to bed now she could get a good six hours in, more if she showed up at the library on time instead of early. Lately, however, she had felt the need for sleep less and less. Hermoine figured the stress of working on this was subsituting for sleep, making her body believe she didn't need it. That was probably it. It reminded her of finals back at university. Then it seemed she could run on junk food and caffeine for days with barely four hours of sleep in an entire week. She wasn't sure if those were the good days or simply the crazed ones of youth. 

Hermoine gathered her notes, and thoughts, together to send Angel via email. Maybe it would be helpful. She wondered how he was getting along with that vampire double. _It must be rather difficult_, she thought with English stodginess. Some things just worked themselves into the brain despite trying to get away from them. 

After sending the file, Hermoine stripped, pulled on a nightgown and crawled into bed. Her glasses went on the nightstand as did her pocket watch. Flicking off the bedside lamp, she fell into an almost immediate sleep...and dreamed. 

She was such an enigma. He had never met women like her. Of course, there were so few women these days. He chuckled darkly to himself. 

The laughter raised hairs on her neck as she shuddered. Everything was simply to eerie. Nothing was familiar and everything was. He was and he wasn't. _Don't get caught by him. He is Other_, the little voices in her head said. They began another lilting chant. It was almost becoming too much to bear, trying to keep a cool demeanor for this him while every nerve and psychic voice in her mind screamed danger. She was being torn. 

He didn't see that, but he didn't need to. All he needed to know was she was safely chained to the floor and that she was starving. Hungry people were apt to do interesting things to assuage their need. Everything should be going well with his other. He'd trained her himself under the eye of the Master. There was none better. He decided to tell her so. 

"But the Master's dead. Buffy killed him," she said. The first words out of Christina's mouth since waking. 

"Only where you come from. Here, though Buffy," he sneered, "was the final element in raising the Master I made sure she didn't survive the ritual." 

"Hello? Oh!" Hermoine turned, "Who are you?" she asked the man who seemed to appear in her peripheral vision, startling her. 

He reached for her hand. Hermoine couldn't see his face. "I need you. Will you help me?" 

"How, how can I help you?" she asked, stepping closer to see his face. It was hidden in the shadow of a hat. If she could just get a little closer... 

But when she didn't seem to be any closer despite moving forward a good five paces. Hermoine wasn't sure how, but it was like he moved back as she stepped up, yet without moving at all. Maybe she wasn't moving at all? 

The man held out his hand again. "Help me. I need you...Hermoine." 

Then he turned and walked away. "Wait! Wait, how can I help you! How do you know my name?!" she called after him, futily. 

He dissappeared into the fog.... 

"You know, I really think he loves you." 

"What, who?" It's becoming harder for you to pay attention. 

He laughs at you. "My other self, who else. I keep getting these snippets of his memories of you two." He's on your level, in your face now, "Such tender, mushy, _souled_ feelings," you can feel his surprisingly warm breath carressing your eyelashes and cheeks. His voice takes on the soft purring quality that's always drawn you in and you fight it. _Does he know?_ you wonder. He gently places his index finger on ur lower lip, outlining it, he whispers, "Don't worry, I would never bring Buffy to our bed." 

You jerk back letting out a short explosive breath. Jumping up with preternatural speed, he turns away from you, his laughter ringing from the high walls. 

"See," this other Angel yells to no one, "I knew that wasn't coming from me!" He turns. "I knew it," he says, softer this time. There he is, in your face again, almost faster than you can follow him. His fingers reach out to caress your cheek and you jerk away. Or at least you try to. You forget that he is not your love with your love's human weakness. He is a vampire and he holds your chin with an iron force. You growl at him. 

Angel chuckles darkly at you making you shudder. "She was like that too. Just discovering her Slayer strength," you want to tear away from his voice from his eyes, "she fought me like a little hellcat." He laughed again, "I suppose that's a compliment considering I've fought a few hellcats." 

You are becoming enthralled, you can feel it. _Vampires don't enthrall their victims_, says the part of your mind that stays rational despite any situation, _at least not the ones _I _know about._ But you know it, your becoming enthralled. Bewitched, your mother might say, jokingly. _I have to stop staring into his eyes_. You don't know how you know that, but you also know it's true. 

He's just talking now, almost as if you are best friends, and except for the not-quite painful grip on your chin you might believe it. 

The Slayer walked into the library, "Hey, whatcha beamin' about Minny?" 

"Don't call me Minny, Mayja. It isn't my name," Hermoine said, pushing up her reading glasses. 

Slamming textbooks on a woodstic counter Mayja commented on Hermoine's glasses. 

"I happen to like my glasses." 

"Just wondering why you don't wear contacts or get surgery or something. I mean, it's so common now. Like, you're the only person I know who even owns glasses that they, well, need. I mean, it's so mudo." 

"Mudo?" 

Mayja rolled her eyes, exhasperated. "You know, like you're so behind. It means it's old fashioned. I only say it all the time." 

"I'm sorry I don't pay attention to every change in slang you kids go through." Even the rebuke couldn't erase the smile playing at her lips. For a moment she sat staring at a stack of books in the recently redone library. Some of the high school's alumni, remembering what it looked like before the 1999 fire, had financed refurbishing the library. Despite new neuro-net terminals there were actual books made of real paper resting in woodstic versions of the destroyed wood shelves. 

"Come on. Let's spar." 

Mayja abused the weight bag, but it could take it. "So," she said between high roundhouse kicks, "who's the guy?" 

"What?!" Hermoine's breath was being forced out of her lungs as Mayja kicked the bag, and her. The bag might be able to take the abuse, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to. "Lets, lets stop for now, alright?" 

"Yeah, sure. Hand me that water?" She wiped her sweat off with the back of her hand. 

Hermoine rolled her eyes and grabbed a towel wiping the sweat pouring down her face. She grabbed the water and took a swallow. 

"Hey! That was for me." 

"You have two legs, get your own. Some of us aren't lucky enough to have slayer endurance." 

"So, what's with the goofy grin from earlier. Well, not really goofy," she rambled, "but for you -- you know all that English uptightness and everything -- that's a pretty goofy look. So who is it?" 

Hermoine shrugged. "It's not a guy per se, but a dream --" 

"Oo! a hot dream, almost just as good. Tell me all about it." 

" -- oh why am I telling you anyway." 

"Wh-why do you want," you ask. Your voice sounds far away, even to yourself. "Why are you doing this to me?" 

He is so close you are breathing each other's air. He no longer holds you physically, but you are in his power. "Because I want to torture my souled human self. I want Angel to watch you walk willingly into my arms, to your death." He laughs as you struggle against your visible and invisible bonds. 

  
  
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   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	5. 24-27

Body

24 

Angel was back in the Magick Shoppe. For some reason it had an orange glow inside. "Um, hello?" There was no one in sight, the shop was expanded and who knew what was around the corner. He remembered fighting Spike with Buffy in the shop, throwing holy water at him. 

"Oh, hi, you-you must be Angel." 

He turned around, surprised by a somewhat tall, strangely triangular woman. "And you are..." 

"Tara." She stuck out her hand for him to shake. It was surprisingly coarse. "I-I work at the shop sometimes for Willow. You know, to cover for her and Oz. We met at their wedding, but it was a long time ago..." she trailed off. Her shoulders were slightly hunched and she kept her head down. 

Angel took in her posture and gave her a look from the corner of his eye. "Do I..., do I frighten you?" 

They were talking at the same time. Angel trying to reassure her that he was perfectly harmless and Tara trying to explain that she wasn't at all scared at him. 

"Then why do you stand like that," he squinted at her, trying to find a reason in her posture, the surrounding orange glow. 

"Oh, um, I don't, you know, really know." She seemed to retreat further into herself. 

Angel tried another track. "So what's with the glow, or is it just me?" 

Tara seemed to perk, "Oh, that." She waved her hand and muttered a few words under her breath. Suddenly the air cleared. 

"You're a witch." 

She nodded. 

"A strong one. Maybe you can help me." 

Christina Prime looked up from her blood. "Who's that?" she asked without much fire. She didn't have much will since Angel had forced the bespelled silver/iron cuffs. Nor could she go very far locked away in a cage used hold the occasional werewolf visitor. 

"You don't need to know that." To Tara he said, "She may look like my wife but she's not, in any way. You can call her Prime, that's how I've started thinking of her," he said brusquely. She nodded. "So, do you think you understand?" 

They were moving away from Prime, "About the dreams and all the other stuff? I...I think so." Tara sat in the seat Angel offered, "You want me to help you identify what body the Master is going to steal, right?" 

Angel nodded. 

"And then we'll find your wife." 

"Exactly." On edge, Angel stood, pacing around the table. His pacing was making Tara nervous. "Would you like something to drink," he asked as much to calm her as to give him something to do. Tara nodded. "Great we have water--" 

"Water's good." She unscrewed the cap of the cold bottle and took a sip. "Thanks. So how am I supposed to help you? Do you know what you're looking for?" 

Angel ran a hand through his hair. _I need a cut_, he thought absentmindedly. "It will mean being in close contact with Prime," he saw her jerk back. "I know how hard that might be, but she's harmless now. She can't do anything with those bands on her wrists and she can't take them off. But unless you know where Willow is you're the only person I trust to help me do this." 

"There isn't anyone else." 

Immediately Angel's mind went back to the afternoon Wesley had died. Angel couldn't save him from natural death. The only way he could think of would have been to turn him into a vampire. Instead he watched his friend of the last four decades die, at least peacefully, in his sleep in the middle of the afternoon. Throughout the day as people came and went Christi had been with him, and later that night while he grieved, silently. That night The Powers That Be granted him his humanity. It was an ill received gift. 

"No," Angel shook his head, "there's no one else." 

Tara brushed a hair out of her face and nodded. "Okay. Um, I guess I should talk to Prime now. You know, so I can figure out what's going on and everything, and what to do before this all goes mars." 

He gave her a strange look but took her to see the vampire. "Do you need me to stay with you?" 

"No, I think I can handle this. But you'll be around right?" 

Angel nodded, "Just gonna to get something to eat then I'll be right back." 

The vampiress was staring out the window. Angel was staring at her. This was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life. Angel wanted his wife. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her hair and make sure she was safe. And there she was, sitting chained and cuffed in a chair. He had to fight himself to keep from kneeling at her feet and releasing her. It was harder as she did nothing, just sitting there with her face in profile. There were no long delicate fangs snarling at him, no feral eyes gleaming with too wide pupils, and no claw like nails reaching for his throat. It was all too easy to forget who she was and believe she was who Angel wanted to be. He wasn't even sure if she was safe. 

Angel jumped startled. 

"I-I'm sorry." Tara was standing behind him, a book resting heavily in her arms. 

"No, I'm all right." Angel pushed himself off the door frame. "What've you got?" 

They sat at the small kitchen table, littered with papers, old books, tabstics and plaslets -- thin recyclable sheets of plastic filled with magnetic fibers that created shapes when a special magnet was passed over it. Angel cleared a space on the table for his coffee. It had grown lukewarm, but he drank it down anyhow. He stood up and poured another cup. "Want some?" 

Tara made a face. "No, thanks. I don't drink coffee all that much --" 

"Oh." 

"-- but yours is terrible. Anyhow," she didn't notice Angel make an _I-figured-as-much_ face, "I think I've gotten it all down. Prime said that her Angel," she blushed a little, "is waiting for her signal before he comes over, to, to complete their plan. That means we have a little time. 

"What we have to do is figure out who's body Angel and the Master plan to use to bring him here. Prime said they hadn't figured that part out before she was sent over." 

Angel stopped her, "You said we have a little time?"  
Tara nodded. "Well, not all that much. Prime gave me the impression that her mission wasn't supposed to take all that much time. Anyhow, we only need two days at the most." 

"Two days?" 

"Uh-huh. One day to get prepared and another to rest up. Actually," Tara looked down at her chrono, "it's not too late. I could probably get everything from the shop today but I really need to rest before I do this spell." 

She'd managed to lose Angel. "What spell?" 

"Huh?" Tara had been muttering to herself. Working, out loud, the small details. "Oh, um, the one that will open a door between this reality and the one Prime's from. So you can get Christina of course." 

"Why can't you do it after you get the ingredients." 

"Because she needs all her strength if she's gonna open that door and keep it open," Prime yelled from her seat. Angel and Tara had forgotten she was there, but with her preternatural hearing she had been following their conversation. She wasn't happy to betray her lover, but what choice did she have. 

Tara looked back at Angel and asked, "Are you taking her back with you?" He nodded. She made a note on a tabstic with a stencil. 

"Why would it have taken two days?" 

"Well," she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, "I wanted to wait for Willow. She could help me, you know? I-I mean I know you're anxious to get you're wife back, so you probably don't wanna wait." 

"No, if you think you need Willow then we'll wait." 

"You shouldn't wait," Prime called from her seat again. "If you want her still sane that is," she laughed. It was high and slightly crazed. 

Angel looked at Tara, "We'll wait." 

25 

_He looks so pale lying there. Angel wonders how long he can keep watching his eyelids flutter, checking his chest for movement. Wesley has been one of his best friends for decades. Now age was catching up with him, the way it never would, never had, for Angel._

_He was such a pompous jerk when they first met. An uptight English Watcher, sent to replace Giles when he saved Buffy from an initiation ritual gone horribly wrong. But the Wesley lying before Angel is much changed. He'd officially given up his Watcher status soon after the initial Faith debacle. She had been his charge and when she turned on them all he felt personally responsible. Instead he became a rogue demon hunter, at least in his own mind. Working for Angel had slowly changed him, made him into the person he'd thought himself to be. "Not that he's any less a geek," Cordelia had once commented._

_Now he is dying. _

_Angel holds his hand, his faint pulse registering under the vampire's hand clearly. None of the doctors are able to help him. They can't figure out how he has managed to stay alive so long. "All we can do now is keep him comfortable," one said to Christina. Angel was too busy studying the face of his friend, lost in his own thoughts, to notice much of the goings on in the room. Already Buffy and her teenage son had come for a visit. Riley visited later with their daughter. Willow and Oz had been there early that morning, just before Angel made it up. Willow tried some spells on him to no avail. Anya was in Paris at some semi-centurial vengeance demon's convention. Xander brought her well wishes as well as his wife's. _

_And Christi. She is curled up in one of the hospital chairs dozing. It has been a long day speaking to various members of both Angel's and Wesley's past. A few Watchers have come and gone. Christi has greeted them all. Occasionally she gets a cup of coffee from the vending machine. A nurse or two greet her on her way back. They all know her well. _

_The coffee in her hand is mostly gone. She was sipping it, watching her husband of a year deep in his own thoughts. Sometimes she wishes to be privy to them, to know what goes on in a vampire's mind, but she knows he is as oblivious to her as he is to the rest of the world. She wonders if Angel would even notice if she gathers her things and goes home to sleep in their bed instead of a semi-soft, semi-comfortable hospital chair. She falls asleep to that thought._

_Angel's thoughts, at the moment, were on Cordelia. They'd had a falling out some time ago. No one had expected it to last this long; it was going on two years. Yet, she had been the first one to see Wesley. She had been the one to find him collapsed in his house, an apparent stroke. By the time Angel was notified she was gone. He had taken up the vigil since then. _

_A disturbance outside the hospital room, loud enough to be heard with door closed, awakens Christi. Putting down the coffee cup she looks up at her husband. He doesn't seem to being seeing anything, not even Wesley. She yawns wearily. Christi hasn't had a good night's sleep in over a week. Another commotion outside turns her head away from Wes' prone body. Turning back, she feels as if she has been caught in a piece of time induced amber. Everything is unreal as Christina slowly uncurls herself from the chair, getting up slowly and making her way to Angel's side. _

_It lasts until she touches his shoulder. "He's dead," Angel says, aware of his wife for the first time in days. Doctors and nurses rush in a moment later, alerted to Wesley's death at the nurses station. _

_Doctors crowd around the bed, Angel stands up and back to give them room. Machines were wheeled in by nurses. Christi gently tugged her husband back and away. "We're in the way here, they'll save Wesley." She wasn't sure if he heard her or not._

_"No," Angel said softly, surprising her, "they can't save him." He followed Christina's lead as she grabbed her bag and took one last look at Wes' body. Outside she hailed a cab, giving the bot directions to their home. _

_During the ride Angel stares out the window, idly watching the city pass by. Christi doesn't even bother trying to start a conversation with her husband. She's ever seen him this way, so withdrawn from the world. None of the hospital visitors seemed to know what to do either. _Maybe I should call Cordelia_, Christi thinks turning on the lights in their loft apartment. But she is grasping at straws and knows it. Her husband is grieving not sick. _

_She knows grief. It was the death of her childhood friend Rachel by a vampire that was the turning point in her life. But what is grief to a vampire? She doesn't know how to help a man that cannot cry. All these thoughts flit through her head as she wonders around the house picking up stray things she has left in the house while rushing in and out between the hospital and classes. Their bed is untouched. Neither has slept in it for over a week. _

_A noise behind her, Angel, standing in the the doorway behind her. "Are you all right," she asks, turning around. It's an inane question and she regrets it leaving her mouth. "I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head at her own insensitivity._

_"No, it's all right. _

_"He died before it happened," he says after a little bit. Christi is tempted to ask what it is, but she knows. Wesley'd believed he would live to see Angel's humanity returned to him. Now he never will. "He shouldn't have died," Angel goes on, "not with the technology today."_

_"He was too old for the transform, and you know it. A lot of today's medicine is based on it. She goes to him, "There was nothing they could do." _

_Angel envelopes her in a crushing hug. "Honey, I may be the Slayer, but I can't breath." For the first time since Wesley's hospitalization Angel laughs. He loosens his grip on his wife. Christi leads him to the bed. She gently pushes him down on the bed, "Sit down. No, lay down. I know you don't need to sleep, but everyone needs rest," she runs her hands over his face, through his hair. "Just relax for a little while, okay?" She scarcely notices Angel rubbing her arms, her sides and her back. _

_"I'll lie down if you lie down with me," he says in a low voice. "Your just as tired," he says, laying kisses on her stomach, "you need your rest, too." Angel pulls her down onto his lap, kissing her with a hunger she finds a little frightening. _

_They are usually more reserved, knowing the consequences of too much ardor, but something about Wesley's death has snapped Angel's restraints. _

_Christi pushes her husband away. "Angel," she says, breathing hard, "we have to stop." He looks up at her. Gently touching his face she says, "I know it hurts, but this isn't the way. It will only be worse. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to die," she adds, smiling facetiously, trying to make a joke out of it. _

_Angel hugs her tight. "I know," he says, burying his face in her neck. "Sometimes I wish I could just cry for him."_

_"You cry," Christi whispers, "even if there are no tears." _

_She strokes his hair as Angel's body shook with dry sobs. They sit on the edge of the bed, rocking each other into solace for an hour. Sniffling, Angel looks up to her and smiles. "Thank you," he says, eyes glistening._

_Christi stares at him, eyes wide in shock. "What's wrong," Angel asks._

_"You're crying," she exclaims in a whisper. "I mean your tearing." His left eye overflows and Christina catches the tear with a fingertip. She tastes it with her tongue. "It's salty, no blood. Angel I think you're alive."_

_He'd watched in stunned silence as she lapped his tear. "How do we prove it?"_

_Christina half turns and reaches back for a small ornamental obsidian dagger over the night stand. Before Angel can react she takes it and slashes the inside of her palm with the blade. Bright red blood begins oozing out of the gash, puddling in her hand._

_"What are you doing?!" Angel nearly dumps her onto the floor in his haste to get something to stop the bleeding. He takes her palm in his hand and begins doctoring it. "What do you think you were doing," he asks, truly worried._

_"Angel," his wife places her other hand over his busy one, "look at you, you're not trying to drink from me. You're face hasn't even changed. Look at me," he finishes with the bandage and does, "you're human. The Powers That Be have released you."_

_Slowly Angel touches his own face and looks down at the blood stained anti-septics in his hand. He begins to laugh, first a low chuckle then a loud guffaw, tearing in the process. Christina smiles at him, kissing him gently on the cheek. Angel kisses her back, at first tenderly then with more ardor._

_"I love you," he says, gently pushing her down onto the bed._

26 

"You know, your hubby's memories suck! I give him dreams full of gory detail and he leaves out the good parts," Angel ranted to the stony visage of the Slayer 

At the tap of footsteps he looked up, Christi following his gaze. "Angel, is all in readiness?" the owner of the footsteps asks. She could not see who it was. 

"Almost Master," she feels shock run through her body, "all we need now is the signal from Christina." 

"And we are expecting it soon, yes?" 

"Yes, within a day or two." 

"And my body?" 

"Chosen." 

"Excellent," there was a purr of pleasure in his voice. "And how do things go with the _Slayer_," he asked, this time with derisive laughter in his voice. 

Angel walked over to her and smiled maliciously, "Very well, if I say so myself. You'll be quite proud of her. Some of my best work yet." 

"Yes, especially after that pesky incident with the soul. Glad that's over." This time he did laugh. "You will inform me when things are ready, won't you?" he added absently 

"Of course." Of course the answer was yes. 

Hermoine wondered around in the darkness, her hands feeling for a wall, for anything. A brush of fingers against cloth. "Who's there?" she calls. 

The figure turns around, "I need you Hermoine." 

"Who are you," she asks him, searching for his features in the dark. 

"I need you. Help me, Hermoine." 

Her fingers search vainly to his face. "How can I help you? Tell me --" 

"Will you help me?" 

"--how I can help you?" She stepped closer, intrigued and more than a little mesmerized. 

Hermoine blinked against the bright light. "Are you still there?" she asked as her eyes adjusted to the light. 

"I need you Hermoine." 

She was a little frustrated, "Yes, I know, but how can I help you? You won't tell me what's wrong. You won't even let me see your face." 

"You will help me Hermoine?" 

"Of course," she said, pushing up her glasses. "But _how_?" 

The man stepped closer. His face, hidden in the shadow of his cowl, slowly began to take shape as he came into the light. "Give yourself to me." 

"Wha-" Hermoine gasped as the hood slipped off and she beheld the Master. 

Before she could react his gnarled and veined hands were cupping her face, none too gently. His long clawlike nails pressed into her flesh causing Hermoine to gasp in pain. It was then, with her mouth open, that Angel stepped into the "dream." He held a large tome and sprinkled some kind of black powder around the two, chanting. 

Hermoine struggled in the Master's grasp, but she was caught in his gaze, and soon her fighting ceased. 

27 

She was nearly dead, almost beyond pain. The stars were doing a careening dance, swirling and pulsing, just for her. 

Something wet and warm was shoved into her mouth. Oh God, she didn't know dying was such a thirsty process. She latched onto the...thing, whatever it was, and drank and drank until it created another kind of pain deep in her belly. Cramping, she was cramping, but the stars had stopped their mad dance. Instead they were unnaturally bright, everything was. It might as well have been day for all her eyes cared. And that star toward the left, that was a planet. Jupiter maybe? The man standing over her was blocking her view. 

She pushed him away. For some reason she was surprised when he moved. He looked at her expression and laughed. "A little disoriented?" She nodded. "Yes, well," he said, stroking her cheek, "it happens. Do you know who you are?" She shook her head. He laughed again. "Do you know what you are?" 

"Not . . . not human." 

"Very good," he said, her chin between his fingers. "No, your not human. And when I'm through with you you'll never want to be human again." 

Before she could react he bit down into her neck, hard. Pulling her new vampiric blood from her with ferocious speed she felt as if her veins were being scratched raw. It was over in seconds, but it felt like hours. 

She lay limply in his arms. "It hurts doesn't it." She was too weak to reply. "This is what being human is, weakness," he hissed, "mortality . . . , pain. Is this what you want to be?" His face was close to hers now, breathing in her weak breath, "You were meant for strength, for greatness, all you have to do is take it." 

Coming as close to her mouth as possible, he bared his neck to her. She latched on for all she was worth. She didn't question why or the rightness of it, she only knew that she could not abide this weakness. He cried out in pain, a smile on his lips. She would be an apt pupil, a beautifully vicious consort. 

As she drank her fill she slowed in her feeding. He took that moment to bite her own exposed neck. At first surprised, she succumbed to the feeling of feeding while being fed on. It seemed a live wire had been tapped and in that moment she found herself inside his mind. _I am Christina and this is Angel_, she thought to herself, _my saving Angel._

They were locked in the Vampire's Kiss.   
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   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



	6. 28-end

Body

28 

"What's wrong with you?" Prime sneered. Angel refused an answer. 

The last dream had shaken him. He'd awakened not with a start, but slowly and with a terrible feeling of dread. If Angel hadn't known it before he knew his other-self meant to destroy his wife. The last visages of denial died in Angel's mind. He was Christi's only hope and time was running out. 

Angel up into the attic where Willow and Tara prepared to open a Door To. Tara created a circle made of fine volcanic ash, encircling runes and various talismen chalked onto the floor. Willow had just finishing chalking a large door on one of the unoccupied walls. It was surprisingly detailed with strange designs that, were they not so malevolent, would appear comical from crude representation. She turned around to face him, a dreamy half-gaze on her face. Oz, who had been standing in the shadows mostly unnoticed, stepped forward and pressed two fingers to the center of her forehead, mouth and heart in turn. Tara came forward and did the same touching her eyes, throat and temples. Suddenly Willow snapped out of her daze. 

"Is everything ready?" Angel asked in a subdued tone. Oz stepped back and down the stairs, his role apparently done while the two witches stepped in the open portion of the circle, Tara closing it behind them. 

"Ready when you are," the redhead answered him. "Are you going to bring Chri-, er Prime with you?" No one was quite comfortable with the Slayer turned vampiress. 

Before Angel could answer Oz appeared, leading the subject of discussion down the plazwood steps. "Yes." She tried resisting but her arm bands were chained together, Oz handed them over to Angel. "We're ready." 

"What's taking so long?!" The Master was becoming mildly annoyed. 

Angel walked up to him, Christi in silent tow. "Everything is going well. Your body is ready, we need only bring it here to complete the change." 

"And as for Christina?" 

"She has sent her signal. As soon as you are ready and transferred we can go to the other side." 

The Master smiled, "Excellent." He stopped short of rubbing his hands together. "And how does it go with our little Slayer," he mused. Blankly she gazed at Angel's back. "Well, I see. Is she completely bent to your will?" 

Angel laughed. "Absolutely. Christina, come here." She did, her eyes only slightly less glassy. "Bare your pretty neck for the Master." Again, she complied without hesitation. 

"Very nice. Nothing is absolute, remember, though it is a hard lesson to learn. However, she is a delightful thing. You _are_ making an event of killing her, aren't you?" 

The vampire grinned wolfishly. The Master nodded again, pleased. 

As Angel woke from yet another disturbing dream Hermoine was setting in the Library. Many of the objects she had with her were the similar to, if not the same as, the ones Willow, Tara and Oz would bring to Angel's apartment. It was much harder to find the completely unused wall necessary for the spell she was about to cast, but find one she did. Hermoine eyes held the half glazed look that reflected her trance. Unlike Willow, there would be no one to release her; she was counting on the transit to jolt her from the magic induced Other State. There was no way of knowing, of course. 

Instead of a circle made of white volcanic ash Hermoine used fine black volcanic sand. It also extended to include the chalked on door; this created with black chalk, mostly because pale color of the wall. The spell specified a clearly defined door. It too was as surprisingly and painstakingly detailed as Willow and Tara's would be. However, this door led to another room and another fate. 

To those who spared you a glance, you stare unseeingly. Once, in another life, someone called this non-sight looking into Third Space. It is the place between yourself and the object you are not seeing. It is the middle space, the air between, it is . . . 

But you are losing yourself in this circular, paradoxical logic. 

You hear a command which you follow, staring blindly. They laugh softly, it makes your skin crawl -- not that they can see -- while you silently store every word. Once again you are forgotten. You relax and, seemingly blindly, survey the room. No one notices you, you are no longer a threat. That's all right. You almost smile, a small sliver of wood caressed in your palm. 

"What's she doing?" a thin vampire asks, nervous. 

Angel hardly noticed either of them. There were things going on beyond his control. His plans were being subverted and he had to have it all back in his grasp. Nothing less would do. Angrily he turned around and glanced at the Slayer. Her gaze slowly roved from place to place. Angel tried to capture it only for her eyes to slide past his. Directing his order to her he said, "Stop that!" She did, her stare settling just past his left shoulder, to the wall behind him. 

Angel turned his attention back to his plans. 

The shock of rushing Between elicited a shocked gasp from Christina Prime. Angel fared worse, doubling over in pain and nausea. The vampiress was compelled to help him stand, if only to be sure that she would be freed of her fregged enspelled cuffs. 

Hermoine stands waiting on the other side of her door. Still entranced by her own spell working she waits for someone to release her. Over the past hours the imprint of her chalk made door -- made real in this other realm -- has dissipated, Hermoine's chance of leaving disappearing with it. When it is completely gone a lank vampire comes to fetch her. 

"Where are we you fool? You can't get sick now," Prime hissed at Angel. He stumbled to his feet. 

Forcing the retching feeling away, Angel glanced around. "We're in an upper room or the mezzanine or something." In a quick sweeping look Angel made his decision, "We have to go back through."  
"What?!" 

"I don't know where we are and we don't know how many vampires are here. Now while that may make you happy," he whispered fiercely, "I need better odds than that." 

Before she could object, the former vampire pulled Prime through the Door. 

He smiled, "So this is my prize." Turning her around he said, "Yes, this will do nicely." 

You are humming. Not so much because you like it, but because it annoys them. The haunting melody works its way underneath their skin, making it crawl, wrapping around their hearts, into the depths of their minds. Consequently it makes you smile vacantly to yourself. Of course you know what it is doing to them, its part of your magic. 

Angel looked up . . . only to see himself. He smiled sardonically, the lackey standing beside him scurried to the shadows. "So, this is what I would look like if I were still human. You know," he added in an pseudo-inviting whisper, "it doesn't look good on us. You really should find someone to fix that for you." Clad in black leather pants -- illegal in our own world -- and a deep red shimmering work shirt that accentuated his muscular body the Vampire Angel was quite a contrast to his human self; the latter looking sleep deprived with longish hair in disarray and wrinkled poly-plaz/cotton clothes making Angel look unfinished 

"Yeah, well--" Angel couldn't come up with a rejoinder. It had taken another two tries before he and Prime had come through the right Door. Apparently the place, where ever it was, was riddled with such passageways Between, hence the detail of the door. "Where's Christina?" he asked instead. 

"Right here." The vampire turned slightly and called to her as if she were a pet. 

She was a wreck. There were bags under her eyes, her clothes looked worn and hung limply from her frame and a vacant smile played across her lips. For the first time Angel and Prime noticed the humming. It was like nothing either had ever heard before. For Angel it was if his wife was calling to every ugly and evil thing he'd thought buried in his soul. To Christi's vampiress counterpart it was a siren song. It called to her in an almost frightening way. Memories of her transformation rushed passed her eyes, including a similar song her lover had sung to her. 

The two Angels watched as Christina Prime walked inexplicably closer to her counterpart. Though her sire called to her, she was oblivious to all else. Christi's unseeing smile grew wider. Their hands stretched out towards each other, fingertips nearly touching. The men watched in silent wonder and with trepidation. 

They came nearer and nearer as if trying to become one body, one mind, one person. Prime felt her canines and fingernails grow and sharpen without much thought. Teeth bared she stepped into her twin's embrace, finding little trouble with the other's hands on her chest. Suddenly clear eyed, Christi was supporting her vampire self, the latter with a sliver of wood protruding from her breast. It flared in an instant. "No!" Angel screamed, as Christi let fall her twin. 

Only dust and the bespelled cuffs hit the stone floor. 

Christi collapsed after her. 

Quickly her husband recovered from limb numbing shock. "Looks like your not going to win after all," he said before launching himself at himself. 

The Master watched from the mezzanine as his favorite son threw his disgraceful human counterpart. He was up in an instant. They once again became a tangle of blurred feet and arms distinguished only by the color of their clothing, both of which were quickly becoming blood stained. 

"Stop!" he commanded from his perch. He was quite pleased to see that this new body commanded attention as well as the old. Its appearance could be worked on later. The two combatants did indeed stop. 

One of them smiled the other looked at him quizzically. "Where is Christina," he asked imperiously, "and why is the Slayer on the ground?" 

The smile quickly turned dark. "The Slayer killed her." 

"The Slayer did what?" He went pounding down the steep metal stairs. 

The other shook his head. "Whoa, whoa, wait." Confused he asked, "What are you doing here?" 

The Master laughed, the sound tinkling through the cavernous room. "You don't get it do you. No of course not. You've been keeping your little Hermoine here out of the loop." He petted his new body and said, "It seems fitting that I should dominate your world in the body of one trying to protect it." 

"He has been rather slow," the vampire said, rubbing his jaw. "Looks like he still doesn't get it." 

"Don't you recognize me Angel?" Abruptly the voice deepens, "Maybe you know me now?" 

The man gasped. This was voice not easily forgotten . . . especially after almost two centuries of service. He couldn't understand how it was possible. 

"You see, I cannot cross into your reality without the existence of my counterpart. To . . . sidestep this little problem I needed to appropriate one from yours." Looking down at himself the Master said, "I quite approve." 

"I can't let you cross over." 

The Master laughed. "Of course not, dear boy. That is why you're here." 

Attention off his double Angel was unprepared for heavy weight landing atop him. The air went out of his lungs with a whoosh! Was he this annoying as a vampire? 

With strength belied by his humanity, Angel pushed his double off. Only to be attacked again. The two grappled, their clothing the only thing distinguishing them. The double threw Angel across the room -- by his wife. Out of habit, he picked up the first piece of sharp wood his fingers touched. It was similar to the one Christi killed Prime with. Angel wasn't sure how it worked. Who cared how the freg it worked, so long as it did! He wasn't all too confident in their success. The crimson things were mere slivers instead of hearty stakes, but Angel didn't have the time to think of that. The vampire double was advancing, intent on not death, but incapacitating him. Angel wouldn't admit it, but he was nearly there. 

Christina moaned, but the others didn't notice. The Vampire Angel said something snarky to his human self. "Oh yeah?" was his reply. _I'm losin' my touch_, he thought to himself. His vampire seemed to agree. He threw his head back and laughed. 

Angel, not finding it the least bit funny, took the opportunity to throw one of the little crimson sticks into his mouth. The vampire's cat-like eyes widened in shock, then seemed to glow with an inner light. Actually his entire body seemed aglow from the inside. 

Screaming terribly, Angel watched himself burn from the inside out. He looked down at his wife. She was gone. Held in thrall, watching himself die, he hadn't noticed Christina crawl away, weak from hunger and exhaustion. Angel's gaze swept the large space. There she was, holding the Herm- the Master in a vice-like grip. Incredulously he watched to two match strength for strength, his wife slowly winning the battle of wills. 

With speed Angel didn't think she could muster, Christi grabbed a piece of sharp metal lying close to the steps beside which the two were fighting. 

"No!" he yelled across the room. 

She shook her head. "I have to or it crosses over to our world." Christi took a breath and growled low, "I will not be known as the Slayer who let the Master back into our world." 

"You won't kill me will you, dearie?" He asked in Hermoine's familiar comfortable voice. Christi nearly wavered. 

"I wouldn't kill her," she said in a low voice, "but you're not her." 

The Master locked her gaze to his, "Come now Christi, you've been through a lot these past few days. You haven't eaten," he said slowly, "you've slept badly, you need help and rest. Let me help you." 

Angel slowly walked up to them, afraid that any sudden movement might shift the precarious balance of power. 

She swayed slightly. Angel was afraid he'd lost her. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed, "And just to let you know," Angel barely picked up her words, "your little trick doesn't work on me." The very air hummed with tension. She drew back ready to kill him. 

The Master screamed, a multi-tonal sound that made vampires throughout the complex cringe. Christi pulled back, hands over her ears. Instantly, Angel was with her. "Are you all right?" She nodded. They looked at where the body of the Master lay trembling. 

Christi went over to him. "Christina wait. It might be a trick." 

"I . . . I don't think so." She crouched over it and tentatively cleared the hair from it's eyes. 

They blinked and opened. "Mayja?" 

"Hermoine? No, it's me, Christina." 

"Ah." She sighed and it sounded like a death rattle. She grasped the ex-Slayer's hand, "You have to kill me." 

"No! Hermoine I can't, not if you're in control now." 

"But I'm not," her voice was tired. "Its taking all my strength just to hold him at bay, I can hardly talk." She pulled tighter on the young woman's hand. "Kill me," she pleaded. 

Tears streamed down Christina's face as she nodded. Angel stood behind her, not wanting to get Christi any more involved than she was. "I'll do it." 

Sniffling, the ex-Slayer shook her head. "I have to. It's my fault this is all happening. If I hadn't ignored my gift I would have seen the signs of a interdimensional rift, would have felt my double pushing through." 

Hermoine convulsed, tears squeezing from her eyes. "Do it. Now! Please," her voice broke, "I can't hold him any longer." 

Christina straddled her body, arm poised high. Hand tight on the shard -- it cut into her palm -- she whispered, "Let him go." 

The tightness in her body relaxed only to be replaced by vivid alertness. Quickly and with precision she ran the long hard metal across the Master's neck. Hot blood spurted up and out, covering Christi before she could scramble off the body. 

"That won't kill me," the Master said. 

Palming a crimson stick from who knew where, Christi said, almost mournfully, "I know." 

She dropped it into a pool of blood and jumped back. It immediately caught fire, traveling along the red pathways until they consumed the Master in fire. Angel shielded his wife from the heat and fire. 

When it was over he let her go. She collapsed back into him. "Think you're strong enough to carry me," she asked weakly. 

He smiled and lifted her. 

29 

"We were starting to worry," Tara said upon their arrival through the door. She and Willow hastily brushed away the chalk door, erasing their magic with it. 

The two witches and werewolf followed the former vampire and ex-Slayer up to the couple's bedroom. Angel lay his wife on the bed and kissed her forehead. She looked like so much walked over mudo-crudoff, but Angel was simply happy to have her back. A glance in their floor length mirror told him he didn't look much better. Those bruises were going to hurt something awful tomorrow. 

"Hey, Angel," Willow started to say, he was looking down at his wife as she fell asleep, "if you're not too tired I'll tell you about those little red stix you bought for Christi." 

Half asleep, she perked at her name. 

"They're called Fire Stix you know." 

Angel groaned. Christina turned over, buried her face in a pillow and giggled. 

"What? Did I say something funny?" Oz and Tara looked from her to them and shrugged. 

Angel stretched out and laughed with his wife. 

"We'll show ourselves out." 

Fin 

They laughed even harder.  
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   [1]: http://www.gurlpages.com/tinpra/main.html



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